Trauma
by H'ekwos
Summary: It wasn't just the traumatic physical injuries, after all, Dr. Kurosaki Ichigo can fix those. But there was something terribly broken about the nameless patient that moved him to help at any cost. Unexpected consequences of his compassion may make that cost too high for him to pay. - AU (or perhaps not). Sexual references, cursing. M/F, M/M. Eventual large cast.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - Lying still and immobile in a PT room, staring at ceiling tiles for an hour at a time trying to avoid neck surgery, this story came to entertain me. I probably make lots of errors in medical terminology and practices, but as long as no doctors are reading fanfiction (ha!), I should get away with it.**

 **Waaay different than my usual stories. This is a drama, lots of thoughts and feelings. It is not as AU as it seems, believe it or not, and will connect back to Bleach eventually. OC only to help tell the story, they aren't taking the stage at all.**

 **My first story without lemons! _Do let me know if I cross any lines_ and I'll gladly alter story or more likely change the rating if that's appropriate. But other than kissing and some dirty thoughts, it's a pretty clean one. A few references to sex, not graphic.**

 **Warnings - sometimes a boring amount of real life angst. M/F and M/M**

 **Disclaimer - I don't own Bleach.**

* * *

The air was still and oddly sharp, light dim and diffuse, sound distant and muted. A bland view, as flavorless as the rest of the environment. Black lashes, long and thick, were the most interesting feature visible as they fluttered, then faded as glazed eyes attempted to focus. Blurs of white and beige, faint lines between the two colors, nothing that stood out or made itself identifiable.

As eyes automatically blinked and tiredly struggled to gather enough detail to provide something, anything useful, an equally sluggish brain analyzed the unfamiliar images. Too little information, and the new sensations being reported added no clarity. Something was irritating, verging on painful but dulled like everything else. An attempt to look toward the irritant failed, the field of vision limited and attempts to move fruitless.

Sounds increased, either far away or oddly disconnected as if heard moments after the disturbance. A rhythmic beeping had increased in tempo, a voice perhaps was added, though distorted and unintelligible. Briefly, a face in the peripherals of vision, unclear and blurred like the featureless blobs of pale colors. Sensation, something unidentified lightly pressing close by. The irritation clearer, heat nearly burning and an ache underneath, but too elusive still to be labeled, only placed lower than eyes but otherwise . . ..

Another face, closer, more centered, slightly larger with more color but so unclear, so frustratingly foreign. Voice louder, deeper, more able to penetrate the rushing sound only now quieting enough to separate from other stimuli. It was all so much static.

". . . hear me . . . alright . . . we . . . you . . ."

Too much effort for too little reward, the first clear thought surfacing. Lashes fell as eyes slid closed.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Ayane had been a nurse for more than 26 years now. She had done her fair share of dirty work early in her career, before earning the respect and the degree needed to be where she is now. She mostly handles surgery aftercare, and has a sizable team of nurses under her supervision. Trauma cases were the ones she dreaded. It wasn't just the horrible and frightening injuries. Patients who came in for a scheduled surgery were so much easier to handle. You never knew what you'd be dealing with when a trauma case woke up.

She expected the worst with this one, patient 310. He looked like trouble, with that white hair and the horrid scars. This one wasn't even supposed to wake up for two more days, at least. She'd been shocked when she turned to check why the heart monitor was suddenly reading an elevated pulse and found barely opened eyes, a throat struggling to swallow, and a brow tightening in pain or effort. When she moved closer the patient tried to look at her, and she rushed to find the attending doctor. Instead she found the neurosurgeon who had operated on him, checking up, she assumed, on his few patients.

The doctor was far too young for her, but she couldn't help appreciating a good-looking man as the surgeon leaned over the patient. Dr. Kurosaki was well-known, and on his way to becoming one of the leading names in his highly qualified and competitive field. If this patient was waking up days early, it was probably to Dr. Kurosaki's credit. Ayane remembered the first time she heard of someone surviving a broken neck. It was miraculous what doctors could accomplish these days.

She stepped forward as the doctor let out a deep sigh.

"Nope, he's asleep again. He might not even remember this, later. I'll take notes for the attending and adjust the dosages. Can you make certain I'm called if he wakes up again? Any time, day or night. It's too early for him to be conscious."

"Of course, Dr. Kurosaki."

Ayane took the card and handed the surgeon the patient's chart. She stepped back and let him take readings and update the records. Her eyes drifted back to the patient, completely quiet once more. Such a disturbing case, it had everyone on the floor a bit nervous. The patient was young, healthy, and built like someone who could handle a fight. What could have happened? Who could have done that much damage?

The surgeon finished his notes, and just looked at the patient quietly for some time. Perhaps he was wondering the same things. He smiled at her warmly and thanked her before leaving, a good deal more personable than many of the specialists she had to deal with. Great talent, good attitude, and he seemed to genuinely care. The strange patient was terribly unlucky in many ways, but at least now his luck had changed for the better. She only hoped he would not wake up violent and angry, or turn out to be the type of person who deserved enemies capable of snapping his neck.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Late night phone calls were nothing new in the Kurosaki household. Two groans followed the shrill ringing, set loud enough to wake the dead. Four hands fumbled, muttered words as tired minds sorted out whose cell phone was shrilly demanding attention.

"S'mine, babe," a slurred phrase as one of the larger hands closed around a flashing screen. "Kurosaki here."

A smaller hand covered a yawn as her husband gave her an apologetic smile. His brown eyes were growing clearer and more awake as he listened, and then he was moving as if he had never been asleep. She had seen it a hundred times. She probably looked the same when it was her phone summoning help at 3 AM.

"I'll be there in 10, keep sedation light and only if there is no other option."

Even before he brusquely ended the conversation, he was pulling on slacks. She sat up halfway to meet him as he leaned in for a quick kiss.

"Sorry, Hime. I probably won't be back tonight."

"Mmm, good luck. I'll check on you at lunch if I can."

When a neurosurgeon marries an equally gifted obstetrician, interrupted nights were the rule rather than the exception. She stretched and settled back in the bed for a few more hours rest as he sped toward the door while buttoning up his shirt. It wasn't the life she used to dream of. She had wanted his time, his children, his head resting on her lap. But she had loved him enough to chase him through medical school. She had loved him enough to push herself to be his equal, because he did not have the same dreams. It had taken everything she could give to become the woman he wanted, but in return she was the one he came home to. Most days, it was worth it, she thought as she drifted back to sleep alone. Most nights, it was not.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Ceiling tiles. Such a simple answer. It had taken several minutes to come up with it, but the tiny mystery was solved. The white patches were ceiling tiles, and the beige to the side must be a wall. A woman was talking to him, one word out of every twenty perhaps coming through. He did not pay attention, too committed to identifying the light gray patch at the lower limits of his vision. Wall, ceiling tiles, gray patch. A light? Perhaps. One of those panel lights in commercial ceilings, currently off.

Something else, he needed something else to think about. The four . . . yes, four patches of irritation would take over all his attention if he did not find something else. Oh, that horrible feeling like mild electrocution, stronger and weaker, gone then suddenly returning. Pain would be better, this hovered right below the threshold like a bad itch just out of reach. Something else to distract his thoughts. There was nothing else he could see, and he refused to think about the fact that he could not move his head.

Fine, he tried to focus on the words. The woman keeps talking, in what was probably intended to be a soothing tone. It just made her harder to understand, didn't she realize that? Her face came and went at the edges of his field of vision. His eyes wouldn't focus quickly enough to catch more than pale skin, dark hair. The face reappeared, and something cool and wet touched his lips. He would have pulled away in disgust, but nothing would move, nothing at all except his eyes and the skin of his face. He imagined his lips were stretched in a grimace. He did not know if he was successful in expressing his displeasure.

"Doctor . . . any . . . now," it wasn't enough to make sense. Doctor. Unable to move, no voice, white ceiling tiles, doctor. What had happened to him? Both the beeping and the high-pitched voice sped up, and he knew that mild panic was creeping up. No questions, ask yourself no questions at all or they will overreact.

"Stop! I specifically said sedation was a last resort. Does he look violent to you?"

Mumbles and scattered noises. But that one voice had been crystal clear, loud and authoritative to cut right through the haze. It was angry, that voice. And he could not move, could not even look. He was angry, too, angry to be helpless, vulnerable, unable to understand. And something more, something terrible that he suppressed along with everything else. Ask yourself no questions.

". . . about that . . . feeling," dammit, back to this again. The voice had softened and become unclear as a face swam into view. His vision was still blurred, or maybe it always was. Maybe this was normal, his normal. Did he wear glasses? Was he partly blind? Were his perceptions off and this is simply how everyone sees the world?

No questions. He was not doing a very good job of following his own instructions. The voice was silent, the face watching him critically as he concentrated, moving his eyes around the face to try to piece together a clearer picture. Fairly young, features just a little sharp, outstanding orange shade of hair that would have made him smile. Perhaps he did, he couldn't tell.

"You're having trouble hearing me." The statement was slow and clear, but he could not nod or speak. He felt his lips move, which immediately caused him to swallow hard. Those four places somewhere below the level of his mouth lit up like fireworks and his eyes clenched shut.

"Easy now. Stop trying, just breathe. We will get there together. Breathe now."

It sounded like stupid advice until you found yourself incapable of even the most basic function or thought. He kept his eyes closed and breathed, for the first time feeling the air push through his teeth.

"When you think you can, try to breathe through your nose. There is a tube by your nose delivering oxygen. It will help. Then when the pain subsides, I want you to open your eyes."

He heard the man moving nearby, the sound of beeps. He breathed, in and out. More slowly, more relaxed. It was the only thing he could do, so he gave it all his attention. When he opened his eyes, the face was right where it had been, less clear than before.

"Very good. Now, if you can hear me clearly, please try to blink one time, deliberately so that I can tell it isn't just a regular blink."

Ah, this could work. Primitive, but what else was there? He watched the face as he slowly closed and opened his eyes.

"Perfect. I am going to tell you a few things, and ask a few questions. To start, I am Dr. Kurosaki. You will be able to speak soon, and when you do you can call me Ichigo. You were badly hurt, your head and neck both injured in a way that made surgery necessary. Your neck is in a stiff brace to allow healing, you won't be able to move your head much if at all, but it is going to get better. Everyone heals differently, I can't tell you how long, but it is going to get better. And I'll be here to answer all your questions when you are able to ask. If you understand so far, give me one more blink."

He was tempted not to respond, as he truly did not understand. There was too little information given. But there was no way to ask for proof or clarification. And he certainly had no way to defend himself if he angered these people. It seemed distrust was natural for him, a nagging doubt of anyone's intentions or honesty. With his doubts clear, he slowly blinked.

"Okay. I have a few questions, nothing too complicated right now. You are on some pretty heavy painkillers, in case you are wondering why you can't think clearly. But you can help me out with a few things. First, I was right that you can't hear clearly unless I speak carefully? One blink for yes, no response for no."

God, this was going to take forever. Blink.

"Can you see clearly? Can you, for example, see the writing on this paper?"

A white smudge with smaller, dark smudges. No blinking.

"Alright. We'll be monitoring both issues. One of your injuries was a minor skull fracture with severe concussion. There was some swelling, causing pressure on the brain. I expect vision and hearing to improve pretty quickly now. Can you please move your hands for me?"

He focused, but there was nothing to focus on. If his hands moved, he did not know it.

"Next, please move your feet, even just your toes."

His brow knit in concentration and frustration. He could not feel such things, not hands, not feet, nothing, nothing at all below his neck. Ah, his neck. That's where the heat is, the irritation, the ache.

"I am going to move now."

The face left him alone, but the voice called out more loudly, enunciating carefully.

"Please be honest, and blink if you can feel my fingers touching your legs."

The beeping of the machine nearby gave him away. He stared at the ceiling tiles, trying to control the panic and definitely not blinking. This stranger's hands were on him, and he could not see it, could not move away, could not even sense the touch.

"Enough of that for now. Breathe for me, nice and easy. It's alright. It would have been remarkable if you could feel your extremities this early. You can't, but that does not mean you will not. Just like the swelling from the head injury is causing interference with your senses, the swelling near the spinal cord is making it difficult or impossible to feel below the injury. It will improve as the swelling recedes. Again, I can't say how long this will last, but you responded very well to surgery. There is no reason to think you will not make a solid recovery. That means walking, running. I can't guarantee one hundred percent perfection, but we'll see if we can get very close."

Perfection. What was 100% for him? Was he an athlete? A paraplegic? He did not know.

"There will be some complicated questions later. Just one for now. Confirm for me that you hear me, one blink."

His eyes swung back to the face and blinked.

"Do you know your name?"

His vision grew much blurrier as sudden tears fell, but he held his eyes open and stared, trying to make the message very clear.

"Alright then. Post-traumatic amnesia isn't uncommon, and it almost always goes away on its own. We'll come back to that question later."

The face came close, and a hand came into view. He could not flinch away. A soft cloth brushed high on one cheek, then the other. The face was clearer. Brown eyes, kind and confident, filled with concern but no pity. A slight smile on thin lips.

"It's going to get better. And I'll be here every day, as long as it takes."


	2. Chapter 2

What a disappointment. For just a moment, she had a chance. Dr. Kurosaki had taken an interest in the John Doe in room 310. All she had to do was provide her usual standard of perfect care, make sure the surgeon was never inconvenienced, and there was a chance of landing a position in his new private clinic. But no, that incompetent hussy on duty two nights ago had overreacted, clearly disobeying the surgeon's very specific instructions. She had returned from her day off to learn that the surgeon was pissed, and it all reflected on her as the lead.

He hadn't taken it out on the foolish nurse other than a raised voice, hadn't even reported her. But that slim chance was now just a dream. Ayane was going to make that girl's life hell. She stopped in the hall, taking a few deep breaths. She couldn't afford another blunder, no taking out her anger on 310. It wasn't his fault, he had enough problems of his own. Pulling the chart, she went through the notes from the attending (nearly illegible to someone with less experience) and the young surgeon (crisp and precise, with plenty of detail). It was quite obvious that the surgeon had taken complete control of this case from the attending, nearly unheard of. She sighed again. The Kurosaki Clinic would have been the perfect place to finish her career.

310 wasn't awake, not that she expected him to be. She ran down her checklist efficiently. The patient would need prepped for a procedure late afternoon, so all the standard care needed to be done this morning. It would all be completed perfectly, and she would personally inspect every step. Even if her chance was gone, it was still her job and her calling.

"Good morning. Kobayashi, wasn't it?"

She jumped. Why didn't his shoes squeak? Everyone's shoes squeaked after the morning janitors finished. What business did a man that big have moving so quietly, anyway?

"Dr. Kurosaki, good morning."

"Sorry if I startled you. How is he doing?"

"I'm afraid I just arrived, and the patient has been asleep."

"Well, seems that's changed."

Ayane turned, and sure enough those odd eyes were open, looking straight up at the ceiling and blinking slowly. He was so creepy. Oh no, did she just think such a rude, unprofessional thing?

"Good morning."

The surgeon spoke much more loudly as he pulled a chair over and sat near the patient. Come to think of it, she'd just read the chart note that 310 couldn't hear or see clearly. And she'd been judging the helpless man, thinking of him as creepy. How mortifying. Trying her best not to let her shoes squeak, she made a quick exit and left the chart by the door.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Home was only 10 minutes away, and Ichigo was tempted. But that was a 20-minute round trip, 30 if there was traffic. So, he grabbed a quick shower and crashed for an hour in the on-call room. The snoring of the resident in the other bunk didn't stop him at all, and the hour did wonders for him.

Technically, he still had a little more than a year to go in the long residency program for neurosurgeons. But he had already been set loose for the most part, his superiors recognizing that Ichigo would surpass them. He only had four patients to check on, a few consults to prepare for, and only one basic follow-up procedure today; they only brought him in on the most serious cases now. More of his attention was shifting to the home clinic, where he could provide better post-op care. Nothing worse than spending hours in surgery, getting everyone's hopes up only to have them die of some avoidable infection during recovery.

As expected, Orihime had texted to meet at the sushi place across the street. It didn't look fancy but they knew their clientele – doctors, techs and nurses sick of standard hospital fare and willing to pay a bit more for quality and speed. They were regulars there and at a half dozen other places near the hospital. Ichigo spotted her long, red hair as he crossed the skywalk and grinned. She was chatting with several colleagues, her bright hair and bright smile always making her the center of attention in the rather plain crowd of white coats and scrubs.

He expected her to turn before he reached her. She had always seemed to have some kind of sixth sense, always knowing where he was, what he was thinking, picking up on his moods more quickly than he did. The conversation must have been interesting, because she looked surprised when he put his hand on her shoulder. A quick peck on the cheek, some exchanged pleasantries, and he was escorting her inside.

They sat and ordered within minutes. He suppressed a small shudder and smiled instead. She always ordered the most unusual combinations, for as long as he had known her, a long time indeed. They had been high-school sweethearts. At least that was the way she told it, and she seemed to believe it completely. He remembered being friends through school, but he never would have called her his sweetheart. They didn't date until college, and barely then. Instead, their relationship just kind of fell in to place. She was always there, always beside him, and by the time they were both in the same medical school it was clear to him that they were just going to keep being that way.

When he was honest with himself, he had expected something different, something more out of love. What he had with Orihime was good, better than most relationships, especially between two doctors. It was comfortable, respectful, affectionate, and supportive. And she loved him. And he cared a great deal about her, more than he cared for anyone.

But he had always thought one day his breath would be stolen. He would go mad for someone, and move mountains for them. He would wake every day to see another opportunity to make someone deliriously happy. It was his father's fault. All those dramatic soliloquies about his great love, and how Masaki was the most perfect woman to have ever lived, they set some strange expectations for the kid watching his father's antics with mild disgust.

"How's your mystery patient today?"

You see, he thought, it was just like this. They snatched 30 minutes in the day for themselves, and he was excited to talk shop. And not just now after 7 years of marriage, it had always been this way. Perhaps he was just letting the world's ideals of romance interfere with his fantasies, but at some point shouldn't they have felt the need to get a hotel room on their quick lunch break? At least a hot make-out session in the bathroom or something. Not that they didn't have sex, and not that they didn't fully enjoy it. But there was no overwhelming passion, no need that became undeniable to touch and connect. Their routine was always so standard, and they both seemed okay with it, they always had. So why was it bothering him lately?

"It's the oddest thing, Hime. He's a week ahead of schedule, at least. If this afternoon goes well, I'd say he's ready to move to recovery. Fastest healer I've ever seen. I'm thinking of doing a case study on him."

"Still no idea who he is?"

"Nope. The cops fingerprinted, DNA tested, retina scanned, the works. No ID on him, nothing on file, no missing persons. Evidence of some pretty serious past injuries, but no matching medical records. And it isn't like he's common looking. He can manage a whisper now, and I don't think he's lying about not knowing his name. It's like he just dropped out of the sky."

"I hope it all works out. Someone must be looking for him, right?"

She spoke with half of her attention. He handled the check while she checked her phone. Didn't she used to hang on his every word? Well, he was the one who wanted a smart, over-achieving wife. You make compromises, and if she was willing to put up with his ambition and drive, it was only fair he support hers.

"It's too soon to tell, but I think I want him at the clinic."

That got her attention, and she blinked up at him. "Ichigo, you don't know who he is, or who did that to him and might come looking to finish the job. He might have deserved it. Not to mention he doesn't have insurance, or a family paying the bills. You only have two empty beds, and you want to give one away to a likely criminal. Be practical."

It felt like she had just kicked him in the gut. Orihime was a bleeding heart. She couldn't pass a random beggar without emptying her purse, and she cried even during animated films. This was a human being he was talking about, one who was going through hell alone. Why would she say something so . . . heartless? He was still staring, dazed, when she got up, kissed his cheek, and left with her phone to her ear.

Before he prepped for surgery, Ichigo filled out the papers for the transfer. He would talk to the young man and the police tomorrow morning, and with any luck he could move his patient to the clinic by that night.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

All was quiet, clean and peaceful. Ayane gave a satisfied nod to herself as she finished one last round. 310 was the last one she checked. She had reviewed the patient's chart earlier. The surgeon's notes said the follow-up procedure was uneventful, some fluid to be drained to relieve pressure, and both wounds were healing. Between the detached, clinical terms, the notes were as optimistic as she had ever read on a chart, particularly for a trauma case.

As she approached the room of the patient, her brow furrowed in annoyance. The chart was missing, probably left in the room by some sloppy nurse. Her steps paused in surprise at the door. A small, feminine figure was at 310's side, casually dressed with dark blonde hair gathered in a loose clip at her shoulders. Had some friend or family member finally come forward? What a relief that would be.

"Pardon me, miss, visiting hours are over for the day. May I help you with anything?" She kept her tone professional, her irritation pushed aside in hopes that 310 had been identified.

The girl turned, her young, wide eyes lighting up like she was seeing an old friend. Ayane was taken aback, and noted that the girl had the chart flipped open in her delicate hands. With a casual but confident stride, the girl, no, the young woman, closed the distance and held out one small hand which Ayane shook without thinking.

"You must be the CNS my brother told me about, Kobayashi-san? I'm Hanakari Yuzu, Dr. Kurosaki's sister. I'm just here to make sure the records are set for the transfer."

"Transfer? I'm sorry, I wasn't made aware."

Her head cocked a little to the side. "Not your fault, it isn't official until the patient agrees. But Ichigo, sorry, Dr. Kurosaki wants him moved to the Kurosaki Clinic, and what my brother wants, my brother gets. Are you in tomorrow? We're hoping to get his consent and move him right away. If you would, please don't mention it to the patient until we've had a chance to discuss it with him. I see that the orders to call Dr. Kurosaki whenever the patient is awake are still on record. That's perfect."

Ayane blinked and tried to keep up. She had not expected this, not the last-minute surprise nor the mousy looking woman exuding confidence and expectation of competence. She wondered if the surgeon's sister was also a doctor.

"Yes, I will be here from 7 AM tomorrow. Please just contact me directly if you need anything, Hanakari-san."

Her bright smile was very disarming, not that the small woman didn't already have Ayane off balance.

"Thank you. I can tell by the state of the ward that you are a perfectionist." Her already soft voice lowered as she leaned forward. "We're definitely not supposed to poach talent, but I wouldn't mind if you passed me your resume. It's only a 6 room clinic, all post-op. It might be a bit dull compared to an active hospital."

Ayane blinked again as the petite woman leaned back again, took another look at the chart, and then stepped around her. As she returned the chart to its rightful place by the door, she gave a cheerful wave and headed down the hall. Ayane allowed herself a hopeful smile as she looked at the sleeping patient. He was her lucky charm, after all.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

This was all so boring, so dull. Every minute he spent awake seemed like an hour. Perhaps it was, it wasn't like he could see a clock. Other than the hypnotic beeping that matched the rhythm of the rushing tides of blood he tried not to hear, there was only the occasional distraction of noises in the hallway. The nurse had checked on him, alerted to his waking by the monitors he was sure were stacked all around him though he could not turn to see. What use was his clearing vision when the only gain was some texture to those damned ceiling tiles and the confirmation that the gray patch was indeed a panel light?

Inevitably, his frustrated mind sought something to occupy itself. He was less alarmed than he used to be when he found nothing again and again. No name, no history. He had been referred to as male, and instincts agreed. He disliked and distrusted people, especially when they touched him, which was happening constantly. Other than that, it was all a void. It didn't even seem strange to him that he didn't worry about it. Yes, he hated this situation. And it terrified him for just a moment every time he failed to find his own identity. Then it faded away. This was just how life was, for now or forever.

Maybe it was the drugs. The doctor had explained that he was on a lot of medication, to keep him calm, still, and free from most of the pain. Surely that is why the panic could not take hold. Except when they touched him. The drugs didn't help then. He could not feel their hands unless they touched his face, but he still knew when they touched him. Then they tried to wash him while he was awake. He had to screw his eyes shut and focus on nothing beyond holding back the scream which he knew would cause horrible pain if he let it out.

He had no idea why it disturbed him so much. It was more than just feeling vulnerable, or being afraid that movement would hurt. There was nothing that logical about it. It was sheer terror mixed with rage, and it drowned out everything else whenever he knew their hands were on him, even if he couldn't feel it, especially since he couldn't feel it. Fortunately, the nurse who was around the most noticed his reaction. She ran into the room in response to the shrill warnings of the monitors as his heart-rate soared, and she stopped them immediately, sending them out of the room.

Every muscle he could control was clenched, and he concentrated on breathing, nothing but breathing. The nurse was mercifully quiet, and she stood watch until his doctor came to take over. The doctor's voice soothed him slowly, with understanding and a complete lack of judgment. Gradually he calmed; slowly he was able to relax his aching jaw without fearing that he would scream.

When he finally opened his eyes, it was to that kind smile and perceptive gaze. His vision was much clearer now, his hearing improved but still it was difficult to catch words spoken too quickly or too softly. And he could speak, barely, a few words at a time before his throat closed off. So far, the doctor had not lied about what to expect.

"That is never going to happen again, you understand? Caregivers have to touch you, as do I, but we will handle it better from now on. You have my word."

He simply watched the doctor, listened to his words but did not try to respond. He knew it had to happen, he had to be . . . handled. He was strong enough to endure it. He wasn't sure if he preferred to deal with it awake, or know that hands had been all over him while he slept in drug-induced helplessness.

"This is my sister, Hanakari Yuzu." Another face, kind and bright as she said she was pleased to meet him. He was not inclined to trust, this one thing he knew about himself. She seemed harmless enough, and had the same open and easy expression as the doctor.

"We would like to move you to our private clinic if you agree. It is state of the art, and focused on neurological recovery. Yuzu would oversee your care, and our team is the best in the business. I would be able to guide your progress more closely, and it is certain you will recover more quickly with less chance of secondary complications. Think about it while we have a little chat with the staff here. We'll be back soon."

There had to be some cause for these reactions and inclinations. Perhaps it was a blessing that his identity and past were lost. His life must have been quite different than the lives of these people, with their obvious kindness and nearly defenseless eyes. He could try; he could trust this doctor just a little. The worst-case scenarios running through his cynical mind were acknowledged and set aside by choice.


	3. Chapter 3

Ichigo hadn't hidden his decision, but he hadn't left it open for discussion, either. The clinic was his, his half of it anyway, and which patients were admitted was entirely his call. His wife had been upset, which was rare. He was still confused and hurt by her reaction. It wasn't like her, not the initial cold, calculating input, nor the current pursed lips and silent disapproval.

They had a plan, as they always did. His residency effectively complete, he would become a specialist with admitting privileges and leave the overwhelming hours of the hospital behind. There was more money to made in being a specialist surgeon with an impeccable track record, and the clinic would help with that. It would bring in its own financial windfall, providing nearly luxury care. Then Orihime could cut back her own hours. They were already secure, and money would no longer be an issue in a few years.

She had always wanted children. So had he, but he didn't want to be an absentee father missing birthdays, running out of school events when his phone went off, collapsing in exhaustion the second he got home. At the very least, one of them had to be more available. No child of his would be raised by a nanny, or end up in therapy with abandonment issues. It was the only responsible and honorable option, to wait until their goals were met before starting a family.

Maybe that was all it was behind her callous attitude. This patient may never be able to pay a bill, though a small compensation would be automatic for a crime victim's care. But the bill for the level of care the clinic provided would end in a lot of zeroes, and that money was the foundation of the future they had lined out. In that light, he could understand. But it still bothered him, her almost cruel attitude and the unexpected defiance.

Thus, he sat quietly, ate his dinner, and ignored the chill radiating from the other side of the table. Dinner together at home wasn't common, and he resented her ruining the opportunity for time together. There was no doubt in his mind that she resented it, too, resented his risky decision and resented his choice to ignore her opinion.

How long had the cracks been growing? How was he only now noticing the distance between them? She had been his shadow for so long, always following, always there in the peripheral of his mind. Was it his fault; had he failed to turn and truly look as she changed, as he had changed her? And then one day he sees her, and sees that his happy, doe-eyed princess is long gone.

Unsure what to do to fix this, unsure how something so small as her mild frown can cause a rift in the foundation he treads upon, Ichigo stood and went to her, kneeling beside her chair and taking her hand in his. The frown he hoped to make disappear deepened for a moment, and his breath hitched in response.

"Hime, I'm sorry I've made you unhappy. I will try to show more restraint. Pro-bono work doesn't usually end up on my table, anyway, so I shouldn't bring home any more strays. He's alone, baby. All alone and it's not just the injuries. There's something so broken about him. I'm sorry, Hime, I just couldn't turn my back this time."

Her beautiful lips had softened as he spoke, as his eyes watched the frown disappear. Until he spoke those last words, and the only lips he had ever kissed tightened once more.

"I never asked you to turn your back on anyone, Ichigo. The hospital is perfectly capable of taking care of patients. I only told you the truth. You have no idea who he is, or what he might bring into our lives. But you made your choice."

She stood, pulling her hand out of his and gathering plates, stalking over to the sink. He stayed kneeling on the floor, eyes downcast as he fought not with sorrow, but with anger. Had he ever been angry with her before? Even for a moment? He drew a breath and stood.

"Orihime . . ."

"You had better go. The ambulance is due at 7."

He stared at her back a moment longer, at that soft, striking hair that never seemed to tangle as he ran his fingers through it again and again over the years. Then he turned to leave. His fists clenched as he walked to the clinic. He shook his head in disbelief. If anyone had told him a few days ago that he would be the one trying to convince Orihime to show compassion, he would have laughed until he cried.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Everything was fuzzy again, and he blinked rapidly to try to focus. The doctor had warned him that he would be sedated more heavily. They would be moving him, and couldn't risk him tensing the wrong muscle at the wrong time, so they knocked him out completely. Whatever they had used had given him a headache; that was new. There was no beeping, the air less sharp though still easily categorized as a hospital aroma of cleaners and sterilizers.

Was that a television screen on the ceiling? The swirling pattern of light and dark gray colored . . . what was that? Not tiles, textured paint or some kind of vinyl sheet maybe. Whatever it was, it was a welcome change from the plain white tiles. The wall, what he could see of it, was an attractive smokey blue. Something light-reflective at the very corner of his vision must be a picture or painting in a glass frame. He wondered idly what it would be. Before he could take in any more of the changes, the sound of a door opening and steps approaching made him tense until a familiar voice greeted him, and he nearly sighed in relief.

"Good morning, and welcome to the Kurosaki Clinic." A light chuckle, a very pleasant sound that automatically made his lips twitch in a small smile.

"I'm glad you are here, too. The team has already had a couple of meetings to discuss your case and outline a recovery plan. You will receive the best care available for as long as you need it."

The doctor leaned closer as his lips moved slowly. "I know," he whispered. The wide smile was startling, and he stared. A new feeling, happiness, caught his attention. It didn't feel familiar, and was all the more distracting because of that novelty.

"We're going to let you relax today. Tomorrow we'll start working on some basic exercises, very easy and boring at this point. I'm just going to get a baseline, even though we were working together at the hospital, it's a little different here."

There had been another physician at the hospital. That one would never imply that a physician and a patient were a team working together. That one was nothing like the doctor. The doctor took the time to explain, but didn't talk to him like an inanimate object, an invalid, or a moron. The doctor told him what was going to happen, and never surprised him. The doctor was beginning to earn his trust.

"Alright, use the blink method and save your voice. But start with your hands, try to move them for me."

He tried, he wanted so badly to succeed. But there was still nothing there, no feeling beyond the now constant irritation in his neck.

"Now your feet. Okay, still nothing to worry about. The procedure yesterday should help, and I will be concerned if there is no movement in three or four days. Until then, anything we get is a bonus. I'm going to touch your shins. Blink if you feel anything."

It was tempting to lie, he wanted to improve and get the hell out of this situation. But he did not blink. He was uncomfortable knowing that the doctor was touching him, but it did not cause the rush of adrenaline and fear. He was told it was happening, and he knew it would end quickly, it made it easier to deal with the desire to draw away and the inability to do so.

"This is new," the doctor held up a black rectangular object for him to examine. "It produces a very mild electric current, and gives us some feedback on how your nerves are responding. Even if you can't feel, the nerves are still sending signals. They're just getting jammed up in that mess in your neck I'm trying to sort out. But we want to know if any major nerves aren't firing like they should. This is the least invasive way to get that information."

The doctor held the device against his own arm within his field of vision. He saw the hairs rise on the tanned forearm, the skin twitch slightly. There was no pain in the doctor's face or eyes.

"I would like to test a few places on your arms and legs only. Would that be okay?"

It amused him now to be asked. It was not like he could stop the man. He gave a slow blink and stared at the black screen above. Some faint reflections made him think of something else while the doctor moved. The angle was wrong. What did he look like? Was he an old man or young? He certainly felt ancient. Was he thin, fit, fat? The left side of his face had been so very sore, would there be a hideous scar? He had almost forgotten the doctor moving around his bedside until he popped back into view.

"Great news. It's not an in-depth test, but it's easy to see that all the major nerves are working just the way they should. Did you feel any discomfort?"

"No," he whispered, then, "mirror?"

The doctor's eyes widened for a second. A large hand came up, grasping and rubbing the back of the doctor's neck as he looked away. What an odd reaction.

"Yuzu is our resident therapist. Let me consult with her. I know that is part of her plan, I'm just not sure when. The concern is your memory. We do want you to recover mentally, but at the same time we want to avoid any sudden shock that might interfere with your physical recovery. Do you understand?"

He gave a little sigh as he blinked. This entire situation was trying his patience, and testing his ability to stay calm. Whatever and whoever he had been, he was certain that being completely at other people's mercy was never okay with him. Sometimes, any time the haze cleared, he just wanted to shout, to throw something, to fight back.

"Hey," the calm voice called as he closed his eyes, "I've never been where you are now. But I've seen it more than I ever wanted to. I can only imagine how frustrating and infuriating this is, and I'm certain my imagination is nothing compared to your reality. It's inadequate and arrogant for me to keep telling you to hold on, to have faith that this is temporary. But it is still true, it will get better. You will be free again."

Once more a soft cloth wiped his cheeks.

"Now, I don't know about you, but I find television terribly annoying. Except maybe nature programs. Music is an option, too, and the staff will check periodically in case you need a program or volume change. Any opinions?"

He thought about it. He didn't want to keep his eyes open to watch anything, but the thought of music was welcome.

"Meditative." He spoke slowly, carefully to keep from stumbling over the complicated word.

"Got it."

Quiet sounds filled the room, waves and wind with a light guitar threading through. He lifted the corners of his mouth to signal approval, and relaxed as he heard the steps and the door.


	4. Chapter 4

He checked in on all his clinic patients at least a couple of times each day, before and after his time at the hospital if he was working both locations. Today he had no surgeries, just an office consult quickly finished before lunch and only two patients to follow up with at the hospital. Usually that meant some extra time at home, even if Orihime was working. But today he stayed at the clinic, catching up on patient files among other things.

The clinic was welcoming, knowing that the support of family could be critical to recovery. Yuzu counseled every family member and friend on positive behaviors before they were granted permission to visit, and she worked tirelessly to keep patients free of the stress that family can bring along with comfort. But his newest patient had no visitors. He found himself popping his head in frequently, and visiting any time the man was awake. He noticed Yuzu doing the same thing.

The head of medicine owed him a few favors, and he called to cash one in to get a loan. One CNS two days a week, and Yuzu was certain that Kobayashi would apply to join the clinic team full time. The hospital would get over losing Kobayashi, with a few return favors owed in compensation. It would give the lone man one more familiar face starting tomorrow, and the nurse seemed like she would fit in.

The entire team was coached in how to handle the newest patient. Yuzu selected those that would have direct contact, and made sure to introduce them to the young man. They each conversed, and made sure he had time to see their faces. For the next several days, they would handle the routine of cleaning, changing sheets, emptying the catheter and such while the patient was asleep, with a little extra sedative added in advance. But the goal would be to work on small contact daily, simple things like the necessary stretches, putting on compression devices, checking IV lines. Each time they would explain what they were doing as they went, and watch for any signs that they needed to stop.

Ichigo was feeling positive about the treatment plans. With this team, the young man would recover more quickly and less painfully. The hospital would have tried their best, but they just were not equipped or staffed to handle the lack of memory, and especially not the haphephobia and whatever underlying issues caused it. Who knows what else might come up? That afternoon, with Yuzu beside him, Ichigo went in to fulfill the one and only request the young man had made.

As Yuzu watched the patient's reactions intently, Ichigo held the three-fold mirror and considered what this must be like, to not know your own face until a virtual stranger revealed the truth. The man was surprisingly calm, his eyes almost analytical. Ichigo was surprised for more reasons than just expecting a stronger reaction. It wasn't the first time he had noted the fierce intelligence. Despite the medication, the patient had made some conclusions and followed conversations that revealed an impressively sharp mind.

The young man was seeing now what Ichigo had first seen on the operating table . . . unusual beauty. He had noticed this right away, of course, almost hesitant to touch, let alone cut such a work of art. The eyes had not been visible then. If they had been, he may not have been able to force himself to go through with it. He watched those eyes as they slowly moved back and forth, pausing to examine themselves before moving on. When he first saw them, he had double checked for contacts, certain they were not natural. He had never seen eyes that color, somewhere between sapphire and emerald, so bright they seemed to give off their own light.

Until a couple of days had passed, he would not have believed that the hair color was natural, either. The long lashes framing his eyes were black, after all, even if his eyebrows were bleached. Yet no other color but stark white showed at the roots as time went by. Pure white down began to grow where the patch of hair on the left side of his head had been shaved away before surgery. Even the light stubble that was shaved daily from his chin, nothing but the finest hints of snow.

As if the unusual coloring wasn't enough, the features were refined and pleasing, to say the least. This man could have walked off the cover of any fashion magazine, or stepped out of the silver screen. The livid bruising stretching to his left cheek would fade, leaving flawless skin, paleness returning as a golden tan continued to fade. But the skin on his body was anything but flawless. The scar from his left shoulder down to the bottom of his ribs was only the most startling of many. There were a multitude of scars small and large, oddly smooth considering the size and depth that was required to make such marks. Almost all of them were on his front, the back marred only a few times. His legs were not spared, though there were fewer. One wound must have opened his right thigh almost to the bone.

It had all been carefully documented. The police detective that discussed the scarring with him to get a medical perspective shared her own expertise. She didn't believe it was abuse, or any kind of voluntary torture like BDSM. She found it consistent with fighting with edged weapons, specifically swords and knives. Some marks likely had other causes, but that explained most of them, along with the thick calluses on his palms and fingers, the smaller cuts along wrist and forearm. They discussed martial arts, underground fighting rings, but still it was highly unusual. And no records that any of these wounds had been treated at an honest medical facility, at least not in Japan.

While Ichigo had been lost in theories of yakuza, secret agents, and ninja assassins, the young man had looked away from his reflection with a scowl and narrowed eyes. How could anyone look in the mirror and be disappointed with that reflection? He folded and moved the mirror aside. Yuzu was watching with concern, and the unusual eyes slid to her as she stepped closer.

"Are you okay?" Such an open-ended question, rather unlike her when dealing with patients.

The man took a slow, deep breath. "Not possible."

"What isn't possible?"

"No one . . ." the words were a struggle. It was a thought he couldn't shake, either. Once seen, this man could not be ignored or forgotten.

"Someone knows you," he interrupted. "They just haven't found you yet."

"We know you," Yuzu reached across the bed, taking his hand and holding it in hers where the young man could see. He smiled at her, so proud of his little sister that he could barely contain it. She turned her kind eyes back to the patient. "We're here, and we are your family for as long as you need us."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

She couldn't even say exactly why she was upset. Angry, not upset, she decided. She always downplayed her emotions, suppressing her true feelings to be the supportive one, the kind one, the one others looked at and wondered how anyone could stay so positive. She wasn't positive, she was a jumble of conflicting desires just like everyone else. They looked and saw what they expected, Orihime was sweet and you could count on her to do as you asked with a cheerful smile.

It was exhausting. It didn't used to be. It used to be its own reward, her efforts repaid by the happiness of her friends, and her love. Ichigo had always been there, and her eyes had always followed his light. It had never felt like a sacrifice when she ignored what she wanted to try to give him what he wanted. Until now.

Until now? Until last year, or the year before, or was it just yesterday? It had been building for so long, and she could no longer tell when she started to break. All she knew was that the reward no longer seemed worth the effort. When she had been honest, and told him what she really thought, her husband had been silent and then within an hour her advice had been discarded. Or worse, never heard in the first place. Had he ever listened to her? What sacrifices had he made? When was the last time he changed himself to please her?

She had been waiting at home for two hours now. She knew he was at the clinic. His schedule had been light today, and he should have come home. On her way home she had been nervous and happy, ready to kiss and make up, have a nice night in, and reaffirm her commitment to her husband and the life they had planned. When she arrived to an empty home, she had swallowed her disappointment and checked for any messages, sure that he had called or left a note that he would be home soon.

Two hours later all she felt was tired. Tired of trying not to admit that she was mad at him. Tired of pretended she did not regret the choices she had made for him. But it could not end so simply. Ichigo and Orihime had never even had a serious fight, never. Ichigo and Orihime were the perfect professional couple, and someday they would be the perfect parents.

Right. And she was always cheerful and selfless. She began to see that it was all layers and layers of half-truths. It was her fault as much as his. She had not just allowed this to happen, she had sought it, pursued him and showed him that she was nothing but what he wanted her to be.

The sound of the front door opening, the alarm code being entered, shoes slipping off, agile, balanced steps. Her husband's image appeared behind her in the mirror, where she had been considering her reflection for the past half hour. Concern showed in his face as she looked at him, really looked at him, and wondered. The girl she had been had given everything, her personality and her wishes for her future to secure his love. But the woman she had become to please him was stronger, more independent. She was not a woman who would accept a partner who did not want to consider or even discuss her opinions. And she wondered, had that woman ever loved this man?

His hands, large but graceful, the hands of a surgeon, had settled on her shoulders. The warmth of him was still a comfort as he stepped close behind her, watching her eyes in the mirror. Would she simply give up at the first sign of trouble? After all she had done to be by his side, would she now let him leave her behind? Whatever these doubts were, wherever this anger came from, it was new. It had not been here before, which meant it could go away, right?

She placed her left hand on her right shoulder, his fingers weaving with hers automatically. The corners of her mouth lifted, causing a complete transformation of his face. Oh, how she had always loved his wide smile, the lines around his eyes and mouth that were evidence of a happy life, a life she had provided for him. She watched in the mirror a few moments longer, watched the relief in both of their faces, watched his head tuck close to kiss their joined hands. Then she turned, lifting her chin and letting those dear lips come to hers.


	5. Chapter 5

It almost made her laugh, to find she was nervous. The clinic was impressive from the outside. She had taken a virtual tour online, but it was so much larger in person, with two wings and a perfectly beautiful courtyard in between. The other side was an eight bed cardiology center, the Ishida Clinic, run by another young medical star. This side was the Kurosaki Clinic. Connecting them in the center were shared resources, storage and file rooms, diagnostic rooms, everything you could ask for to ensure peaceful and full recovery. This place had everything, up to in-house CTs, ECGs, MRIs, the whole damned alphabet.

Ayane shook herself, did one last check in the rear view mirror, and stepped out of her car to walk in confident and unimpressed. She still couldn't believe that Dr. Kurosaki had asked or her by name. Even if it was only 2 days a week, even if he only requested her until 310 was released, she would make such an impression that they would never let her go.

The automatic double doors opened into a wide reception area, modern but more focused on comfort than fashion. Oversized chairs with folding desk arms, multiple outlets and controls on each, a more social sitting area around a table, calming colors and carved privacy screens. She couldn't see anything she would change if it were her own.

"Welcome. Kobayashi-san?"

The receptionist was smiling kindly, standing up from behind his unimposing desk. He was only a little taller than her, a little younger maybe, and as non-threatening as the entire atmosphere. She approved, and gave him a tight, professional smile.

"Yes. I'm to meet with Hanakari-san at 9."

"She's expecting you. Just one moment, please make yourself comfortable."

The waiting area was empty, so she drifted around to look at the artwork, and the view out of the tinted windows into the perfectly landscaped courtyard. It was less than two minutes when the second set of double doors opened and the tiny powerhouse she had met in the hospital was grinning at her and coming toward her with a bounce in her step.

"Kobayashi-san, of, I'm so glad you agreed to come!"

So disarming, Ayane actually smiled back before she knew it. Remembering her manners in front of her boss, she gave a graceful bow.

"I was only too happy to be remembered, Hanakari-san."

"Well, you did make a favorable impression on Ichigo, and not everyone can manage that feat. Sometimes I think he could go through an entire day and not remember meeting a single person. It must be so much simpler his way. So, come on, let's go for a quick tour before we have to face the paperwork. Would you like anything to drink? Water, tea, Itaru here makes a mean cappuccino. No? Maybe later then."

As she was sped through the doors into the clinic proper, once again struggling to keep up with the dainty woman's conversation, she paused again. It was perfect, just perfect. A nurse station in the center was uncluttered, with wide openings, computers at varied heights, and not a stray paper or paperclip to be found. The three people working there went about their business with a quick glance toward the door. The floor, ceiling, walls, all clean with no obstructions. Along each side were four doors, six of which she assumed were the patient rooms. Glass walled offices lined the back.

Her attention snapped back as her boss and tour guide looked back at her. So much for appearing unimpressed.

"So," her boss chirped as Ayane started following her again, "a bit smaller than you're used to. Two exam rooms to your right, two patient rooms after that. Four patient rooms to your left. We'll get into the details of the workstations later. Back here is my office, Ichigo's office, a shared office for the techs, and this, our meeting room, the beating heart of the clinic. Teams meet here daily to go over patient care. You're on team 1A, so your day starts here at 7 AM sharp. I'll explain all the rest later.

"Front corridor, also called the gym. Basically all physical therapy except for the supply rooms on each side. If you ever need anything you can't find, just sign it out on the Ishida side. He overstocks like crazy. Back corridor, a.k.a. Toyland. That's the lab, and all the fun machines, according to the kids."

"The kids?"

"Yes, the high-and-mighty Doctors Kurosaki and Ishida, and their oddball collection of technicians. Be glad you weren't on board when the really expensive machines were installed, you would have found out first hand why we call them the kids. Best in the business, most of the techs are only in one day a week depending on what we need, thank god. Any questions so far?"

"If you don't mind, how is 310, oh I did not just, I mean . . ."

"I know who you mean. Ichigo was right about you, he's going to gloat that you asked about him first. He's doing okay. Actually, much better than okay. He still can't move or even feel below the neck, but that's normal. What isn't normal is that he's awake several hours a day, can talk, and is more lucid hourly despite being on enough painkillers to down a racehorse. Ichigo's writing a case study, says he's never seen anyone heal that fast. Still no identity, I'm sorry to say.

"Come on, let's do the dreaded paperwork and then we'll hand you over to the nurses to start learning the system."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Often he would just relax with his eyes closed. Until he let the doctor convince him to try what he called nature programs. He was staring at the screen, enthralled as the cameras followed a pack of wolves stalking caribou on a desolate plain of snow. He couldn't care less what the animals were doing to one another. The wind whipped small white tornadoes between pale blue dunes. The ground and air sparkled, alive with color and light as flakes and crystals caught the sun, casting miniature rainbows that vanished and reappeared like dreams. It was the most beautiful place he had ever seen, with massive mountains, dangerous frozen lakes, and white, white as far as the eye could see.

So intent on the images, he didn't hear the door or the familiar footsteps. He was startled when the doctor's face appeared, and a flash of pain accompanied his automatic attempt to flinch. His breath hissed out and he winced.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. That was completely my fault. Easy breaths, now."

 _I was breathing easy until you scared the shit out of me, you idiot!_

Too many words, and an opportunity for a retort involving a bedpan. So he just worried about relaxing to dull the pain in his neck. He did not want them to give him more medication, he hated not being able to think clearly. The doctor was looking at him oddly.

"Okay, I've got some good news and bad news. I'm a bad news first kind of guy, so that first, no, you don't get to choose." He couldn't help but smile. "I've put off the cops for a while now. But they'll be here tomorrow to question you. I'll be here the entire time, and I have no problem throwing them out if necessary. I've told them you don't remember your own name, let alone who might have hurt you, but they're cops."

He didn't really have a thought about it one way or the other. Perhaps some small worry for the effort to speak, but what could he even say? The doctor had told him the physical and medical evidence said that he was hit very hard on the side of the head and his neck was broken – well, what they call a broken neck was actually fracturing of the vertebrae, two in his case. Bruising on his neck and the nature of the fraturing hinted that a person had done this, had wrapped their hands around his neck and twisted hard enough to crack bone. He could not imagine it, that such a thing could be done to him or that someone hated him enough to do it.

"And the good news. Did you know your fists are clenched?"

"What?"

"Apparently, all I had to do was say 'Boo.' Can you try to relax your hands, move your fingers?"

Now that he focused on it, there was something, not a full awareness, more like slow, dull points of pressure. They increased as he paid attention, and while he couldn't exactly feel his hands or fingers, he did feel a change in those pressures.

"Very good, oh, that's very good! Not to push our luck, but how about your feet?"

He didn't like not being able to see the doctor's face as he moved down, but he tried. There was pressure there, too. Not as clear as in his arms, but his legs were no longer invisible to him.

"You just moved your toes. Not all of them, but that is simply incredible this soon. Okay, you give me a blink if you can feel my hands."

The far away, dull pressure turned into a sharper tingling. His eyes closed tight in relief. Despite the promises, he had been preparing himself to never walk, never do anything ever again except lie here. The tingling stopped.

"Are you okay?"

"Do it . . . again."

He hissed as the tingling returned, then moved a little farther away.

"You moved . . . lower."

The tingling stopped again and his eyes opened as that bright smile came into view. Only then did it occur to him that he had not been afraid of the doctor's touch.

"More bad news for you. Now that the nerve signals are able to get through, we should see rapid improvement. You still can't move your neck for a while, we'll run some tests to get a better idea. Anyway, you should be ready to start physical therapy soon."

"That's bad?"

The doctor grinned. "Wait until you meet Tatsuki. You'll regret ever making that fist, my friend."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It wasn't getting better. She was trying, really she was. They had made love twice after she decided to forget her concerns, and again last night. They had lunch together at one of their usual places. He had told her with excitement that the first patient had been released from the clinic, and another patient was due to move in. And he had made sure he was home when she was, as they enjoyed a movie and popcorn on the couch after a take-out dinner. It reminded her of their early days as students, and she cuddled into him with seeming contentment.

And yet that nagging worry did not fade, and kept her awake after sex as she tried to figure out what she was doing wrong. She woke with an almost desperate need to try harder. Her schedule was light today, so she stopped at a favorite bakery. Then she headed to the clinic with pastries, bagels, and muffins for the entire staff. Itaru got first pick, and she received a perfect caramel latte in return. Her smile dropped as she entered the clinic to find her husband and sister-in-law speaking with two policemen.

Plastering on a fake smile, she went cheerfully to the nurses station, advertising the goodies. Then she took them to the meeting room, taking the time to find two serving platters and arrange everything in perfect curves. If nothing else, it helped keep her mind off the police. She knew it had to do with that trauma patient with no memory. It wasn't a surprise, she had warned Ichigo that the patient would bring trouble. But he hadn't listened, had completely ignored her.

She peeked out, they were still talking. So she headed down the hall to deliver one platter to Uryu and his staff. Uryu was always glad to see her, especially when she brought food. He could cook very well, but rarely did. Come to think of it, there were few things Uryu couldn't do, and do well. It was a shame that he had never married. He would make a great father, and he made a point of balancing work and off-time. She gave him a broad smile as she breezed by his office, flaunting the full platter of pastries.


	6. Chapter 6

"Welcome home, babe." He leaned down to smile at her over the counter, then went back to chopping vegetables. "Thanks for the treat this morning. Sorry I missed you, were you on your way to the hospital?"

"Yeah, I was going to wait on you but there were police. Everything okay?"

"As okay as it can be. Still no identity, no suspects, so today is the same as yesterday."

"And you still aren't worried that having him in the clinic is dangerous? I told you he'd bring trouble. You should have listened to me."

He stopped. What had it been, a little less than 48 hours? He hadn't mentioned the patient that for some strange reason had brought the two of them suddenly to the edge of a cliff. She hadn't mentioned him, either. Carefully, he resumed chopping the last of the zucchini and spoke in a calm voice.

"No, babe, I'm not worried. Neither are the police, if that helps. If anyone, including anyone who wanted to hurt him, was looking for him it wouldn't be hard to find him. I almost hate to say it, but no one is looking. No one at all. Stir fry okay for dinner?"

Good god, he hated this. He stopped again, leaning on the counter. He hated this, all of it. Just two minutes ago everything was fine.

"Stir fry is fine."

She was right beside him, studying his posture, the look on his face that surely shouted frustration and anger. Straightening and reaching for oil, he calmed himself down by force. Burying this wasn't going to help. They had to talk it out sooner or later. But let it be later. He didn't have the patience tonight. So change the topic and move on.

"How's Uryu?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Slowly he turned. She had taken a step back, anger and what? Guilt? Embarrassment? Why?

"Hime," his voice was low and even, the voice he used to calm patients and upset relatives, "the nurses said you took some muffins over to Uryu's office this morning. I was just asking how he is doing, we haven't talked lately."

"Oh," she pushed her hair back nervously and turned to fidget with something on the table, "he's doing fine, just fine. Busy, you know. I didn't stay, just dropped off stuff and went to the hospital, just said hello and left. Can I set the table or anything?"

"Why don't you just go relax for a minute. I'll start cooking."

He watched her go with a new worry, a new anger. There are no secrets in a small clinic. It wasn't unusual for Orihime and Uryu to visit when he was too busy to join them; they had all been friends since high school. He knew she had sat in his office this morning chatting for nearly an hour. She had lied, about something that would never have upset him if she told the truth. Why? Was this the first time she had lied to him?

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Confined spaces weren't a problem for him. That was a welcome discovery, if a bit surprising considering how much he hated not being able to move. They warned him that the MRI machine was loud and unsettling. With earplugs and a thick, soft brace around his neck that also muffled his ears, he hardly heard a thing. All in all, it was a rather relaxing experience, cocooned and lulled by the hums and clicks of the machine. It was simple to imagine that nothing else existed, the world and all its complications gone for nearly an hour.

He was allowed to sit up just a little now, a slight incline of the bed. It helped when people wished to talk to him. And he could see his hands and feet move. It seemed silly now, but he had half expected to look and find nothing there, no arms or legs just like he looked and found no identity. When the doctor came to show him pretty pictures of his head and neck, the man didn't have to hold them over his head. Much more civilized. He enjoyed discussing the tests with the doctor, finding that he knew more than the standard layperson, but there was much still to learn.

It didn't mean anything to him when the doctor repeated that he was a fast healer. It seemed slow as death to him. But his doctor assured him that most patients would be lucky to make this much progress in twice or even three times as long. He pitied the typical patient. The test showed that his head was healed enough that it was no longer a concern. Now it was just a matter of waiting for his bones to be strong enough. If his current rate of healing continued, the doctor said maybe a few more weeks and he'd be walking.

But if his head was better, where were his memories?

He had started dreaming, always the same scene. White on white, endless expanses of snow and ice with blue mountains on the horizon. Stupid nature programs. But he should not complain, as the dreams left him feeling more peaceful upon waking, more rested. Yet sometimes it seemed as if he heard a voice calling him at the edge of that dream, fading as he woke, and it bothered him that he could never remember what it said.

"Good evening."

"Hello, doctor."

"Ichigo, how many times do I have to tell you? How are you feeling?"

"A little more. Note I do not say better."

"Can't have it all. Elaborate."

He managed a weak chuckle. He liked chatting with the doctor. The man had a good sense of humor. It did not escape him, how lucky he was. He may not remember his own name, but he knew that high level doctors don't normally work 7 days a week, don't visit patients several times a day, and don't sit and talk for an hour or more at a time about anything that took their fancy. All of this, and he also knew that he could not pay for the services. Not unless he remembered, and then, who knew?

He told the doctor how he could clearly feel his arms now, and move them fairly well. He could feel his torso and most of his legs, but still had numbness sporadically. The doctor nodded along, and part of his mind watched the doctor's face and reactions. Another part ran off on random thoughts, mostly about the doctor, as well. This he could expect, he supposed. It wasn't like he had a lot of things to think about. He had many conversations with the doctor's sister, a few with the nurse the doctor brought in just for him, and he watched his nature programs and listened to music. Not a wide pool of experiences to draw on.

It was strange which things the brain retained and which it lost. He seemed to have random bits of knowledge on many subjects, and he gathered from people's reactions that he was not quite average. The doctor had remarked a few times on one clever thing he'd say, or another oddly advanced bit of knowledge he would use in conversation. His sister gave less away, but she had shown surprise a few times as well. So, he was smart. And his brain held on to this knowledge and a rather astute manner of thinking. But it had dumped everything that gave context to any of it.

For example, he knows what transference is. He knows that right now, the doctor and the few others close by are the only people in the world to him. He knows that the care and compassion shown by the doctor, the respectful way the doctor has treated him, the careful building of trust the doctor has established, all of these things can lead him to start developing romantic feelings for the doctor. It's a strange thing to know, and stranger to not really care.

It didn't matter if he found the doctor handsome, witty, supportive, kind, brilliant. His doctor was all of those things. He was also married, happily married according to the nurses. It was not as if he would ever act upon the feelings stirring within him. How could he, when he had absolutely no idea who he was? If he remembered, his entire world would change. He may have a wife, a husband, children. He might be a wanted criminal who went to drastic lengths to change his appearance. He laughed at himself a bit for that last one, but it illustrated the point nicely. At this moment, he was no one.

And this no one chatted with his doctor about random things. He didn't know who the prime minister was, or what the local sports teams were called. He did know some sports, and quite well. For example, he could talk strategy and plays, but could not name a single soccer team. When his doctor brought up martial arts, he had no problem participating in the conversation, but again could not name one athlete known for martial arts skills. And then they discussed swords, kendo, and fencing, of all things, which he knew quite a lot about. He wondered exactly what this odd knowledge pool told the doctor about him.

The doctor's sister did similar things, trying to trigger memories. They would talk about families, places, activities in the most general of terms. He knew she was looking for something to stand out, something that would seem more familiar to him. None of it did. On some topics he had knowledge, but it was just that, facts he knew with no feeling connected to them. He started to wonder what they would do with him if he healed physically with an empty head. But he didn't ask.

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After only the first shift, Ayane had polished up and handed in her resume. The clinic was everything she had hoped, small, modern, orderly, and filled with talent. With a maximum of 6 patients, care was beyond top quality. Little luxuries like manicures for patients were a bit over the top, but for the price they were paying, these patients deserved gold-plated bedpans.

How odd that the one pro-bono case was the one that got her the chance to work here. 310, she just couldn't stop thinking of him by his old room number, was turning out to be a very polite and easy patient. Odd, yes, she hadn't been wrong about that. With his strange looks, frightening injuries, and powerful aversion to being touched he was not a perfect patient. But he made up for the difficulties by being calm and cooperative as long as the staff followed protocol.

The absolute lack of identity was what really threw her. It was one thing to have amnesia, but coupled with no identification in the digital age when everyone could know your birthday, first boyfriend, and credit score within seconds, that was impossible. Yet here he was, having accomplished a feat that hackers and extremists could only dream of. He didn't exist. And that still made her nervous.

She felt better about it after the first two weeks had gone by. 310 was able to speak as much as he liked now, and she found he was an intelligent and attentive conversationalist. He seemed to know a little or a lot about everything, but there were odd gaps. Current events, 'pop culture,' anything modern seemed a mystery to him. Dr. Kurosaki and Hanakari both spent a lot of time with 310, and she found herself visiting when she did not have to. He was a bright young man, and it was sad to see him alone while the other patients had visitors daily.

The PT staff came to his room, since moving him was still only done when truly necessary. The PT lead, Ayasawa, was loud and energetic, with a reputation for pushing hard, and 310 was often cursing under his breath for an hour or more after sessions. Then she found even Ayasawa coming to visit after her shifts. Something about 310, though he was not social or charming in the conventional sense, just seemed to draw people to him. And the people here, they were all so positive and open it was no wonder they responded. They were all like Dr. Kurosaki, they genuinely cared about each and every patient from lonely 310 to the bossy American with her own personal assistant. Not her business secretary, mind you, this woman had another woman to shop for her, make sure her favorite foods were fresh and locally sourced, hold her mirror for her, it was ridiculous.

Ayane chuckled to herself. Even she cared, even about the stuck-up lady. It was a nice change. She had always cared on some level, but you learned not to get too attached. There was less death and sorrow in her ward than in the ER where she had started, but it was still a challenge. A private recovery clinic like this would rarely lose a patient. When it happened, she knew it would be all the more devastating. But most times, like now, there was nearly no risk of fatality for any of the patients. And she found she could allow herself to care more, not only because she had only two patients to directly care for, but because she didn't feel the need to distance herself in case they died.

With yet another smile on her face, she greeted the surgeon and briefed him on 310 and her other patient, the diva. As they went over details, she couldn't help but worry a little. Her official interview for a full time position here was this afternoon. Already she had a hard time working her regular shifts at the hospital. It would be so disappointing if she could not stay here, with a doctor who listened, staff who followed directions and went above and beyond without complaint, and the ease of knowing any need would be met on request to ensure the best care possible. The clinic was a different world, one she wanted to be part of.

She handed off the surgeon to the Team 2A staff for briefing on their three patients. Straightening her notes, returning charts to their proper places, all was right in her world. Ayane decided to stop by and chat with 310 if he was awake. He would listen to her worries, and likely had some amazing pointers for interviews stashed somewhere in that encyclopedic brain.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** \- All my stories are IchiHitsu if you didn't know. I promise I'm not really making Ichigo a cheater, and that statement will make sense later in the story.

Anyway, **now is the time to abandon this story if male/male affection bothers you**.

* * *

"You stopped watching television. Is there anything I can get you? How about books, you can read them on the screen these days. That's old tech, I guess, but news to me."

"Books? That would be nice."

"Cool. I'll have Kishi come show you how to use it. Apparently, you get an entire library of books and magazines, just click and everything is there. Amazing what they can do these days."

His patient chuckled. The smooth, deep voice was getting stronger. Their conversations had come to include a lot of humor, and he couldn't stop himself from trying to get that low chuckle at least once a visit. It was a gorgeous sound.

"You open people's skulls and spines for a living, and you're impressed by a digital library."

He smiled. "Yeah, I am. It's funny, so much of my time was spent learning how to do what I do, it's almost like I missed out on ten years of . . . well, everything."

"I know the feeling."

"Right, Mr. One-up, you win again. So, one thing you have to look forward to when you get out of here, they finally opened the new venue for concerts by the river. The season is really diverse, symphony to punk to metal to pop. No matter what you end up liking, they'll have it. You can just lounge on the grass, or they have little lawn chairs, and everyone gets a good view with the stage down on the water."

"Sounds nice, lying back looking at the stars with live music."

For a moment, he envisioned a night by the river, a classical concert, a bottle of wine and a lawn blanket. He swallowed hard when he realized it wasn't Orihime sharing that bottle, it was a man with startling white hair and turquoise eyes reflecting the star-filled sky.

"Do you play chess?"

He shook away the image that he did not find disturbing at all.

"I'm out of practice, but yeah. Do you?"

"I watched something a few days ago, and there was a scene about a chess game. I definitely know how to play. I've been running over the rules and moves in my head ever since, playing imagined games against myself. I would very much like to get it out of my head, if you can spare the time for a game and don't mind moving for me."

"Sure, I can do that. This evening, tomorrow at the latest. Have you figured anything else out about yourself?"

"Only things so random, they don't form a solid picture. Like you were saying, I seem to have knowledge on so many subjects, but nothing seems to trigger any memories. I can only think of academia, maybe I was a scholar, a teacher. Even that doesn't feel right."

"What about the dreams you were talking about?"

His patient sighed, eyes focusing far away.

"They don't seem helpful. It is always the same, no people, no events, just a vision of a snowy field. Sometimes it's day, sometimes night, sometimes so covered in a blizzard that I cannot see anything at all. I cannot be sure, it seems like a voice is calling to me across the plain. But that fades when I wake up. That's it, it doesn't tell me anything."

"Hmm, there probably is something, we just can't see it. You must like snow, at least. First time I ever wished it was winter. You can start going outside in a couple of days, it would be nice if there was snow for you."

"Outside? How long were you going to hold that back?"

"Oh, had I forgotten to mention that? Yes, my dear miracle patient, we'll be moving to a soft neck brace, limited wheelchair time leading up to walking." He grinned as those captivating eyes started to sparkle with interest and excitement. "Oh yes, and real food. Pureed beyond recognition, of course."

"Oh god, does walking mean I can finally start going to the bathroom?"

"How did I know that's the one thing you'd be excited about?"

"Seriously, Kurosaki, someday you need to spend a few weeks completely at the mercy of nurses."

He swore he actually felt his heart stutter when he heard his name in that deep voice, and he couldn't remember ever feeling something like that.

"I suppose that's better than 'doctor,' but my name's Ichigo."

Was that a slight blush as the turquoise eyes looked away?

"Well, I guess we have learned that I am a bit old-fashioned."

"Like I didn't know that by the way you speak. I'll take what I can get, so Kurosaki is fine. I'm going to be late for my consult. I'll send Kobayashi to go over the changes in more detail. Whatever you do, do not let her put the roasted beets on your menu. You do not want to know what that tastes like out of a blender."

Ichigo left with that sexy, low chuckle in his ears. Sexy, what the hell was he thinking? The list of what was wrong with even thinking such things was endless. Starting with the fact that he was a doctor thinking inappropriate thoughts about a patient, ending with he was a married man thinking inappropriate thoughts about a man. He shook his head as he headed for the hospital. How prudish could he be? Thinking was no crime, and all he had done was imagine spending more time, romantic time yes, but it wasn't like he was dreaming of having sex with the man. Even then, fantasies are natural things, all people have them, especially men who are struggling with their marriage.

That was all it was, an escape into fantasy. The patient was easy to be around, the two of them could be close friends. That was, of course, if his personality didn't radically alter when his memories returned. But anyway, he had found a person who was physically and emotionally attractive and he enjoyed spending time with him. It was only to be expected given his other worries that he would have fantasies. It wasn't unheard of, hell, they had names for what he was feeling. All that mattered was not acting on it. Even if the man wasn't his patient, it still would be inappropriate. The man didn't even know who he was, he was the very definition of vulnerable.

He would not let this affect his work one way or the other. The patient was still alone, still needed the extra attention. And he still enjoyed the man's company, more and more as time went on. Neither of those things would change. And if he found himself thinking too much about the thrill he felt whenever the patient laughed, or the tingling that lingered in his hands when the patient allowed him to touch without flinching, he would just have to exercise enough control to be considered a good doctor and a decent human being.

With his mind sorted out, at least on this one topic, Ichigo headed into the hospital. He thought about taking on a few more patients here. He had the time, and he was still feeling a bit guilty for stealing a CNS. A few more surgeries or consults should round out his schedule nicely.

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She had hurried home, not wanting to arrive so late that it caused questions. But once again she arrived to an empty house. They shared schedules, she knew he did not have any surgeries or appointments, and his clinic time should have ended over an hour ago. How funny to be indignant when she was late herself. She had stopped to have drinks with Uryu. He was such a good listener, and she needed that now. Every day she felt a little more distant from Ichigo, and she needed someone who knew them both but wouldn't judge her.

Not feeling up to cooking, she looked through the available leftovers and then pulled out her phone to order delivery again. She ordered her favorites first, and then Ichigo's. She knew all his favorites, favorite foods, favorite movies and books, favorite wines, favorite ways to kiss. As she ended the call the tears started. She fled to their shared home office, just in case he came through the door. And she let herself cry.

Her perfect life with her perfect husband, she had lost it. He had been avoiding her for over a week now. Extra hours at the clinic, taking on more at the hospital, going for his morning run earlier, being too busy to meet for lunch. He would come home just in time to eat, shower, and fall into bed. They had a plan, they had always had a plan. The clinic was almost turning its first profit, and he was going to cut back the hospital hours to spend more time at home. At home, not the clinic, not with that patient. She knew, the nurses had told her. He spent hours just talking with that John Doe. He would rather spend time with a likely criminal with no personality than his own wife.

Wiping away the tears, she pushed her grief aside as she grew angrier. The one thing she had never thought to see was the day when Ichigo broke his promise. He had promised her a family, promised her his time. Now was the time he should be making good on that promise, just as they had planned. It was not her fault, she had done her part all along. There was only so much she had left to give, and she would not give it if he continued this betrayal.

Composed once more, she paid the delivery driver and left her husband's food sitting on the counter. Hers she stored in the refrigerator, her appetite was gone. After a shower, he still was not home. She left the door to the guest bedroom open and the light on, which should make the message clear when he found their bedroom door was locked.

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With a few movements of his fingers and thumb, he was one step closer to victory. He held back a small smile as the doctor studied the screen. It would be a little while before the doctor made a move, but it didn't really matter. It was three moves or five moves from the end depending on the doctor's choice.

"I am a little surprised that you can play this. I mean, controllers are so high-tech."

"Har. Har. I'll have you know I was the reigning Halo champion in my frat."

"That might impress me if I had any idea what it meant. Really? Okay, you are out of practice. Maybe we can find something other than chess. Check. Checkmate in two."

He made his move as the doctor glared at him, this time not holding back a smirk. The doctor rushed another move, useless as it was, and he learned something new. His doctor was competitive, had a well-hidden temper, and made mistakes if you could get him riled up.

"If you insist. Check, checkmate in one."

"Dammit. Yeah, I see it now. Don't get too cocky, that's the first game I've played since I was an undergrad."

"You seem distracted, anyway. And if you don't mind me saying it, you look tired. Everything okay?"

He was pushing a line, he knew. He had never asked the doctor anything truly personal. But the question was general enough, he thought. He was a little surprised when the doctor sighed and fell back in his seat, he had never seen any sign of weakness from the man.

"Not really. I'm just having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The timing happens to be terrible, my wife is apparently having one, too. But we have a lot going on right now, so I'm sure it's temporary."

"Hmm, is that why you are spending so much time here?"

"You are a little too perceptive, my friend. And don't bother telling me, I know avoiding the problem is exactly the wrong thing to do. I just lose my composure too quickly every time we try to talk. So yeah, I spend too much time at work so that I don't have to go home. Shit, that's a bad sign, isn't it?"

"I cannot say I know the answer to that, but it seems like you could use some help. Your sister is a therapist. Maybe she could recommend a marriage counselor. An objective third party can be invaluable."

His doctor gave him a halfhearted grin. "You are probably right. You seem to be right about a lot of things. Have you been reading psychology magazines in that new library? They help you figure out anything new about yourself?"

He returned the smile. If the doctor wanted to change the subject, that was fine. It wasn't like he wanted to help the man save his marriage. He would much prefer the doctor be single. He wondered, not for the first time, what his wife was like. She must be something remarkable, and the kinder part of him hoped that they would come through this unscathed.

"Actually, I have learned something. Soy fluido en espaňol, et français, och svenska."

"What?"

He chuckled. "The look on your face is priceless. I said I'm fluent in a number of languages. I have not actually found my limit yet. So far, every book I open in another language, I find I understand every word. The leading hypothesis now is that I'm a linguist."

"You're kidding. But then we can't know if you are native Japanese. We assumed so because you're fluent, but your language is a bit formal, so you may not be a native speaker. Goes with your coloring, too."

"You're one to talk, strawberry."

The doctor's eyes widened and laughter filled the room. Oh, his doctor had a wonderful laugh, so lively and full of honest joy. He had the sudden urge to lean over and kiss the man, and for one odd moment he was rather glad he was still unable to truly move.


	8. Chapter 8

"There is no new news on the dream front. Still the same, white plains and a half-imagined voice."

"Okay, we won't talk about that today. You seem upset. Has something disturbed you?"

"What an odd question. Do not take this as anger at you, but what has not happened to disturb me?"

Fair enough. Everyone faces challenges, some face so much more than others. She was fortunate, she knew. She had a loving father and brother. Her mother had died when Yuzu was so young that she had only vague memories instead of painful loss. Her sister, admittedly, was a difficult subject for her. But Karin was simply distant, circling the globe and dropping occasional 'hellos;' they hadn't seen each other in years. And she had a wonderful husband, a job she liked.

In comparison, here was a man with no history, no idea who he was. Someone, more than once according to her brother, had tried to kill him. But how much worse to have no one? No one to share your fears with, no one to hold your hand when you wake in pain, no one to tell you your name. Voicing a little bitterness was a healthy reaction, but not one she wanted him to dwell on while he still hadn't recovered any of his identity.

"How about we discuss your ability with languages."

"How about we discuss transference."

"Yes, we can do that."

"Even though you are his sister."

She held back a sigh of relief. For an instant, she thought he was confessing to her. Falling for a therapist isn't uncommon, but it hadn't ever happened to her. Ichigo, on the other hand, was sweet and handsome. It was not the first time a patient had taking more than a liking to her brother.

"Yes, even then. What you say to me is completely confidential, and I am perfectly capable of separating family from work. However, if you would feel more comfortable, I have several colleagues available for you to speak to."

"That is neither necessary, nor welcome. Here are the problems, as plain as I can say it. First, no one can say when or if I will remember who I am. I do not know what will happen to me, and the doctor says I may be released in as little as three weeks. I am aware that there is a social worker coming to explain my options if I do not recover my memory. But that does not remove the anxiety, the very simple and basic fear of the unknown.

"Second, I am quite aware that patients, particularly long-term and trauma patients, are susceptible to transference. More susceptible when they fear being released from care as I do. And I am sure every one of them believes that they are the exception, that their feelings are true and not based on the situation and mistaking compassion for affection. That does not change the fact that I find myself infatuated with my doctor.

"Third, I am attracted to a married man. I may be a married man. Even if he were available and the feelings were genuine and mutual, I cannot in good conscience continue to feel this way when I do not know what commitments or vows I may be violating. For so very many reasons, I need to end this. Whatever my life will be after this place, I do not wish to take these sentiments with me."

Yuzu remained calm, listening with her usual friendly attentiveness. Internally, she was amazed. Not just at this development, which she had not seen coming at all, but at the patient's reasoning.

"It isn't often I have a patient that understands more than the most basic concepts of psychology. And you probably won't be surprised that you are not the first that I have talked to about this issue. You hopefully understand that it is quite common and normal, not something to feel ashamed of."

"Yes, yes, I do know all of the basics. What I don't know and have not been able to grasp from research is what _exactly_ I can do to stop the growing attachment when there is no root cause to find. I have no past, no daddy issues to dig up. There is only . . .. This is not going to help. I simply have to wait until I leave and then never see him again until I forget. The world will be larger, he will be smaller, and I will move on."

"It isn't that simple, I'm afraid. What were you about to say, there is only what?"

"Thank you, and I am sorry for I know this will be very rude and disrespectful. But I am done speaking of this."

"Please don't do that. Talking about these feelings does help, trust me."

"What would you like to know about my apparent linguistic talents?"

She winced. 'Trust me,' wrong thing to say, she knew that. This man did not trust easily, and did not respond well at all to anything resembling a command. She would have to hope that she could circle back to this before his time at the clinic was up, she had lost the chance today.

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The first time he saw his patient standing upright, with the help of parallel bars of course, he just stood back and stared. It's funny how much difference there was between a body hooked to tubes and covered in thin, white blankets, and a body in motion, muscles working. He had just seen the patient this morning, nothing had changed, yet everything seemed different. His patient was lean, and while his muscles had weakened with disuse, he was still well built.

Pale legs showed from the knee to short socks, with the occasional flash of a silvery thigh as the gown swayed. He knew that fine hairs covered the legs, but from a short distance the white hairs were invisible, and the legs looked like they must be shaved. And smooth. He took a steadying breath. A vision of running his hand up the outside of that thigh, heating that coolness, darkening that fairness . . . he turned quickly and headed to check up on another patient, mentally smacking himself.

Ichigo had a lot of practice hiding his emotions. Patients and their families would say outrageous or offensive things. He would have to seem unaffected when dealing with some of the more disgusting side effects of human biology. And he had tons of practice seeming interested and sympathetic when people were dull or just downright stupid. By the time his patient was being wheeled back into the clinic, he was able to greet him with a casual smile.

"How's the PT going, Tatsuki?"

"For once I don't have to whip the patient to get them moving. This one pushes himself. I'd say he pushes too much, but I don't want him to hear me and get lazy."

"Right," the patient snapped, "I've seen lieutenants who took it easier on recruits than you do on people with spinal injuries."

He raised a brow. Military background? That might fit, with the fitness, the confidence, the evidence of fighting. Even linguistics would fit if he was in military intelligence. The patient seemed to be thinking of what he had just said, as well, a frown and a slightly distant look settling on his face.

"Walking is not going to be a problem, Ichigo. When can we start working on his neck?"

"Let's find out."

He walked ahead of the wheelchair, Tatsuki and Umeda, one of her PT team, following. The patient didn't wait for help, moving to stand as soon as Umeda swung the footplate out of the way. Careful to make her movements visible, Tatsuki moved to assist, hands hovering close but not touching. The patient managed to settle back in the bed without her help, and she smiled.

"See what I mean, Ichigo?"

"Alright, showoff, settle back and relax your head into the pillow. I'm going to put my hand on your chin. Now, don't move far, do not push hard. Just lightly turn against my fingers, to your right. A little harder. Stop, very good."

He moved his hand, definitely not caressing the patient's jawline, just shifting his fingers to the other side. He didn't notice that the skin was warmer than expected, and smoother. It didn't feel right when that skin pressed closer to his fingers. No, he only noticed the required pressure and the lack of accompanying pain. Three fingertips lightly pushed up on that sharp chin, as they might if lifting that lovely face to his.

"Now, very easy with this one. Stop if there is even the slightest discomfort. Push down, lightly, against my fingers."

Turquoise eyes watched him carefully, and he was certain he had his clinical face on. He only looked into those remarkable eyes to see if there was any pain, not to simply enjoy the close eye contact.

"Good enough to earn you a few more tests. I'll line them up. If the results are as good as I suspect, Tatsuki, you can torture him more thoroughly in a day or two."

He replaced the neck brace, focusing on the mechanics of accomplishing the task instead of noticing how like an embrace it was to reach around the man. With a promise to visit later, he left with Tatsuki, catching up on other patients. He did not regret leaving, and he definitely didn't chat about PT just to get away from his patient before he said or did something monumentally foolish. And he was certain that those eyes didn't follow him as far as they could.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"You can't mean it."

"How much clearer can I make it? We haven't spoken in weeks except to snap at each other. We're both avoiding home. I don't want to share a bed, so why must we share a house at all?"

"Hime, you just said we haven't spoken. We need to. What about counseling? I've already gotten a few names from Yuzu, we haven't even tried."

She was silent, eyes on her hands which were slowly wringing on the table top.

"Every couple has problems, babe. You know, we've never even had a fight over anything more serious than which movie to watch. We should talk to someone together, at least give it a try."

It's not the best book I've read, but at least give it a try. I know it sounds gross, but at least give it a try. It doesn't sound like a very interesting show, but at least give it a try. Hell, watch a few episodes and you will convince yourself it is worth 4 days watching all 5 seasons and in the end you'll wonder why you wasted all that time. Stick with your marriage even though you can't remember the last time you really felt any excitement about your future, at least give it a try.

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, Ichigo? Why try? Do you really want to do what you promised, cut back hours, have kids, spend more time with me? Was that ever what you wanted?"

His mouth opened with a hint of panic in his eyes, and she almost heard him say that she was being silly. Of course, that's always what he wanted, he would say. What else could he ever want, he would ask. She watched as his mouth closed, the panic fading into an almost blank stare.

"Do you know, I never wanted to be a doctor. I hated medical school. I hate eating out all the time, or ordering take-out. I hate myself for being jealous of my patients when I hand them their new son or daughter. I hate that clinic that was supposed to give you back to me and has taken you away instead. I hated our dates, how short they were because we were both too busy and too tired. I hate that our nights are always interrupted."

"Stop. Orihime, please stop."

"Stop what? Telling you the truth? You said we needed to talk."

She was so calm, so numb at this point. She knew nothing she would say would change him, and she didn't know why she bothered. Maybe it was just to finally say something that was not expected of her. She saw that hurt he had shown her that day at the sushi bar, and she saw that anger he had shown her when they argued in the kitchen. It just proved that the only time she acted like the Orihime he had required her to become, all he wanted was the compliant Orihime he would have left behind.

"Fine. If I agree to a separation, will you agree to counseling?"

"I know this is something I have rarely said and you have never really heard, but no. No, I do not want to."

She almost lost her resolve when he winced, his eyes shut as he took a few deep breaths. Maybe she should agree to it. Maybe they could make it work, he looked so injured. Her Ichigo, the man she had always known she would marry, have kids with, grow old with. She couldn't even imagine life without him. She opened her mouth to apologize, to take it back.

"I'll come by tomorrow to get my things while you are at work. I'll leave my keys on the kitchen table. Feel free to change the alarm code. Goodnight, Orihime."

He stood and went to the door, collecting his keys, jacket, briefcase, shoes. The door opened. The door closed. And the pain came through.


	9. Chapter 9

"Russian?"

"Yes."

"Hindi?"

"Yes."

"Arabic? Latin? Mandarin?"

"Yes, yes, and yes."

"I'll be damned. Well, at least you don't have to worry about making a living until you remember. Businesses, colleges, museums, think tanks, they are all going to want you. Speaking of which, the social worker will be here Thursday. You will be able to leave in 14 days, 10 if you're lucky."

Lucky? If he were lucky, this never would have happened. Or he would have died nameless and alone in the street. Either way he never would have met his doctor, and would never have to leave his doctor. Lucky. It's all a matter of perspective, really. Time was running out, there really was no need to be careful and polite anymore.

"Are you going to tell me why you look like shit this morning?"

Honey brown eyes narrowed, not in anger but in what looked like an internal debate. Once again, he was surprised when his doctor answered instead of changing the subject immediately.

"Midlife crisis took a turn for the worse. I'm living in a hotel now, and I haven't slept much for two nights. She kicked me out, in case you were wondering which of us gave up. I'd been relegated to the guest bedroom, oh, well over a week ago. You'd think I'd be over it already."

"Oh, dammit. I am sorry."

"Don't be. I can't even be sure that I'm sorry about it. I mean, I'm sorry that I let her down, but I see more and more that I did that a very long time ago. Now she's figured it out, and pointed it out to me, like a delayed reaction of some kind. It's just . . . _agony_."

"You can tell me to shut up at any time. You aren't talking about agony of missing her, or wanting to be back together. You're talking about agony of guilt, like this is all on you. If I am right about that, then you are wrong to take all the guilt. It always takes two to make a partnership start, Kurosaki. And except in the worst, one-sided scenario, at some level it always takes two to make it fail. If you do still want it to work, you cannot _make_ it work without her putting in some effort. Talk to your sister, she will tell you the same."

"I tried to talk her into therapy. I think now that was a last-ditch effort. Do you know how much I feared she would say yes, that I would have to sit and hash this all out with a stranger? So, can I take on all the guilt if I am the one who doesn't put in effort?"

"Really? I call bullshit, Kurosaki. But it is your choice if you want to put all the blame on yourself. May I be completely frank?"

A weary chuckle. "You mean you aren't already being as subtle as a wrecking ball? Please, go ahead."

He waited until his doctor looked him in the eyes. "If she provides you solace and that is all you seek from a partner, try to hold onto her unless the price is too great. If she provides you true joy, you sink your teeth in and do not let go. You throw yourself and all that you are at her feet and you do not let go, no matter the price."

Those intelligent, beautiful eyes stayed locked on his as the doctor swallowed hard. He thought he saw the truth behind the pain, that his doctor found no hope in his words. Or was that his own desire? He gave the advice his mind and heart told him was true, but he did not want his doctor to leap up with passion renewed and rush off to save his marriage. Speaking of guilt, how cruel to feel relief when honey eyes closed in a wince. His doctor, his Ichigo, was not in love with her.

Ichigo stood, straightening his shoulders and expression. But that voice was still honest as he put on a false face for the rest of the world. That rich, kind voice was still honest for him, for him only as the doctor prepared himself to lie to everyone. How badly he wanted to reach out to provide comfort.

"Thank you for that. I will keep it in mind, and I'm sorry to burden you."

He scoffed gently. "Nothing you ask of me could possibly be a burden."

Brown eyes widened a bit, a slight hesitation in the step as the doctor turned to go. Then the professional aura was back in place and then steps, a door opening, a door closing. A pale hand reached for a control and soon peaceful music whispered into the room. A long sigh and his eyes slowly closed. This was starting to hurt.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

There was a distinct spring in her step as Ayane took 310 his breakfast. One more week, just 3 more shifts at the hospital and she could finally say goodbye to her old life. She nearly started humming to herself as she balanced the tray in one hand and opened the door. Her good-luck charm, a trauma patient she had watched in dread, a wise and rather kind young man who had given her an attentive ear and words of wisdom.

She swung open the door and paused in surprise. Much more subdued, she deliberately turned toward the door as she closed it with a little more force and noise than necessary. Just a few extra seconds, keeping her eyes on the tray as she walked slowly, giving him time to wipe away the tears and save a little dignity. He wasn't watching the television, no sad show, depressing news, or tragic novel. The music was light and calm, no moving opera or suicidal lyrics.

Ayane placed the tray on the table and looked as she swung the table toward the bed. Those odd eyes looked back calmly, a soft smile on his face. The patient had not taken the moment to wipe his face. The remarkable blue-green glittered with moisture, and he didn't try to hide it. It was not a reaction she was used to, especially in male patients but even most women tried to keep a brave face in front of her. On impulse, she rested one hand on the edge of the table, as close to a soothing touch as she thought wise. 310 looked at her hand and his smile grew for just a second as if he understood.

"What wonderful treats have you brought me this morning, Kobayashi-san? If I were to hazard a guess, I would say gruel, gruel, and a main course of slightly purple gruel. Ooo, and tea."

"Finally, a patient who appreciates my cooking. We have pureed banana, what was once egg noodles, and my personal favorite, oatmeal with blueberries boiled until they've unrecognizably merged into one pile of mush."

The patient raised a brow with a little grin, and reached for the silverware without further complaint. She tried not to stare at the shining streaks on pale skin.

"Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to send for Dr. Kurosaki or Hanakari-san?"

"Thank you, no. It was just heavy thoughts, certainly no emergency."

She looked down for a second in thought. This young man may seem strong, but how could anyone not be terribly fragile going through this? She opened her lips to try to say something comforting, though she had no idea what, when she felt a cool hand on hers. She looked up in shock.

"Really, Kobayashi, it is okay. Everyone has moments of weakness. I will be fine. And you know both of them will be checking on me today, anyway, just like every day. I swear, it is not normal or healthy to work seven days a week."

26 years in one of the most emotional jobs on the planet, and she almost started crying just because of a few tears from a patient. A patient who had been nearly murdered, who had no memory and no family, and was now overcoming his aversion to offer her a consoling touch. She straightened herself, appalled that she had made the patient have one second of worry for anyone but himself. She pulled her hand away from the table slowly.

"You are looking far too pale, my dear. You had at least a little tan when I first met you, you know. Now you are as white as your hair. What do you say to lunch in the courtyard, get some color back in your cheeks. Any special requests?"

"This might be a long shot. I doubt they'll let me have watermelon, but maybe watermelon juice?"

"You will have it if I have to drive to the country and find a watermelon patch myself."

The first and only request she had ever heard from him. She spent quite a lot of time catering to the diva next door, despite the woman's personal assistant. But her lucky charm had never asked for one damned thing. She smiled and left before she could break down in tears of her own.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He ignored the sharp tingling traveling from his fingertips to his stomach. Every time he saw his patient without the brace, he was dazed again by how elegant that long neck was, how smoothly the skin slid over muscle and bone as it met the most beautiful clavicles he had ever had the fortune to see. Shit! He looked back quickly at the scar, already fading into a silver line with just a bit of pink at the edges when it should still be red and sensitive. He hoped his patient hadn't noticed. Fat chance, hardly anything slipped past the man.

"Unbelievable." He let his fingers continue to rest on the lovely alabaster skin under the excuse of examination.

"What is?"

The smooth voice vibrated against his fingertips. How delightful that would feel against his lips. He moved his hand away and straightened.

"Your healing rate. I know I've said it before, but it is truly astounding."

He replaced the brace, carefully avoiding any more contact. Then he sat in his chair, a good idea anyway as those sharp eyes were sure to note the evidence of his erotic thoughts. So, he would sit until he calmed down and definitely not touch that delectable throat again. Or maybe he would examine it again tomorrow. And the day after. It was his job, after all.

"Starting tomorrow you'll spend several short periods without the brace. The PT team will start focusing on teaching you safe ways to go about daily activities. I know you've already done the research."

The man was even more stunning when his smile actually reached his eyes.

"Will I be able to bathe soon?"

"Bathe, yes. Shower, not quite yet. Too much bending and twisting, too many movements that are automatic, so no shower until Tatsuki has you retrained on how to move."

The man let out a low groan, and he didn't quite stop the shiver that ran through him at the sound.

"Oh, god. Just the thought of being clean . . .."

"Is that an official complaint about my nursing staff?"

A brief glare. "Once again, you really need to just try out the role of patient sometime."

"I'll pass. So, tomorrow the new PT regimen. Then Wednesday afternoon the whole team will be meeting with you to discuss the next steps. That way we'll have all the questions and concerns lined up for the social worker's visit. We've requested that you are placed nearby, so that Tatsuki and I can both provide follow-up care. But I want one thing to be clear. If they limit your stay in assisted living and you still have not recovered your memory, you have a home and family. Your choice, stay with me, Yuzu, or we'll get you a place of your own. If you agree, of course."

Turquoise eyes had grown wide as he spoke, and he held his breath.

"Kurosaki, I . . . I don't know what to say. You have already done so much. Too much."

"We said you were family. We meant it. And I promised you I would be there every step of the way, or did you forget that, too?"

"Funny. Downplay it all you want. It will never be forgotten, though I hope not to need the offer."

He rubbed his neck and fiddled with the chart in his lap until he caught himself. His patient watched with a soft smile.

"Let's talk solid foods. Well, semi-solid, anyway."

He stuck to safe topics for the rest of the visit. It was not kind to hope that his patient would not disappear, that he would still be needed. But what if? What if this man were to stay in his life somehow, whether as an ongoing patient, a friend, or, good god, living in his home wherever that may be? He was already having a hard time hiding his less-than-professional interest. He no longer thought it was only an escape. If he and Orihime had not separated, maybe that bond could have helped him suppress his feelings, but he now believed these feelings would have been there regardless.

"Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night."

He stood and turned to go, stopping but not turning back when that haunting voice spoke softly. He knew what his dreams would be like tonight.

"Good night, Ichigo."

He smiled and continued walking, but he was sure his patient heard him.

"About damn time."

 **ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo**

 **A/N - The truth about Toshiro is coming, starting with the NEXT CHAPTER**


	10. Chapter 10

**Munchkinz** – thanks for the reviews and enthusiasm!  
 **ZzzShiningJJ** – right you are, never really meant this one to be true AU. Hopefully, some readers stick with it through the big change in direction coming.  
 **MikeRyder16** – thank you for giving the story a chance! Glad you found some good in it; it means a lot that you took the time to read and review despite the pairing and translation, so thank you, again.

* * *

"The voice was so loud last night that I woke with a headache. There is only the blizzard now. I can no longer see the mountains or the sky, just gray and white. And I was freezing cold, under blankets and the air was perfectly normal. If it all means anything other than underscoring my anxiety, I do not understand."

She didn't understand either. They had talked about dream imagery, and a blizzard meant emotional turmoil, betrayal, or feeling threatened. Not a huge leap; as with most alternative methods like dream interpretation, you could make those meanings fit anyone's life with a little stretching. The patient didn't take it seriously, either, but they always discussed the dreams. It was an unusually persistent image.

"The meditation has been more helpful, perhaps. Nothing solid, nothing that makes a lot of sense. But at least more than just snow and words I cannot recall."

"Such as?"

The fine lips twisted in a brief grimace. "Images. People dressed oddly, old fashioned robes of black mostly and many of them with swords at their waists. A white city with so many roads, so easy to get lost. It's antiquated, too, I never see any vehicles or even horses, just those people. Wooden buildings on fire, as far as the eye can see, the sky black and gray with towers of red sparks. A clearing in the mountains, the entrance to a large cave. And a dragon of all things. Not a painting or statue, but a real, silvery colored dragon with red eyes."

She hummed under her breath as she wrote notes.

"You see? What does any of that mean? Perhaps I write fantasy novels."

"Do you see any faces repeatedly?"

"Some, and it bothers me that I can't name them. There's a woman, beautiful with long hair and sky blue eyes. A much shorter woman with big, brown eyes and I feel like both laughing and weeping when I see her. Others, but those two I see the most. And your brother, almost every time I see that city or the fires I also see him. He's dressed like the others. He looks younger than now, 20 years old, maybe less. And he, too, has a sword."

"Do you speak, or does anyone?"

"Not a word. It isn't like watching events. It is like seeing still-frames, no sound, no movement."

"This is all much clearer than yesterday, which was remarkably clearer than the day before."

"Yes. Do you think that may mean something? I have read that images and unexpected thoughts can be memories bleeding through."

"I don't want to leap to any conclusions, but yes, it is possible, probable even. The mind can play tricks, as well. For example, you may have a favorite historical novel or movie, or you may study history closely. Well known people or events could then be combined with these other memories, resulting in images like my brother dressed as some kind of samurai. This may not be correct at all, but again it would be a normal effect."

"Which would imply that my brain is healing and trying to sort out memories, just getting things out of order. Meaning I might actually recover my identity."

"Again, there are no promises when it comes to post-traumatic amnesia, but we have always expected a full recovery. And the changes you have experienced in the last two days are consistent with memory restoration."

She watched as he drew a deep breath and his brow furrowed. The patient did not seem pleased about the possibility of recovering his memories. But then, the man did tend to become more emotionally distant when discussing his past, or his lack of a past.

"This is very good news. I confess I was worried about you being released before making progress on this. It would be ideal if you recover your memories here, with all the support you need. But if not, I want to continue to see you."

The patient nodded absently, eyes focused on nothing. Once when he looked like this, she had sat quietly for a full 15 minutes before speaking. He had continued their conversation as if not knowing any time had lapsed. This time, however, he kept that absent look and spoke softly.

"Hanakari-san, forgive my presumption. I believe your brother needs someone to talk to. He is going through some rough experiences."

"What makes you say that?"

Eyes refocused and the patient gave her a slight smile. "I'm sorry, it was probably too much to say already. I only hope he will answer that question."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"What's this? Yet another talent?"

"Evidently. Your sister asked me to see if I could sketch some of the images I have been seeing. As far-fetched as they are, we both think they may contain some elements of genuine memories. And surprise, I seem to be able to draw fairly well."

"You are getting awfully arrogant, my friend. I don't suppose I could see?"

"I don't see why not. You feature in some of them, but don't be alarmed. My wise therapist says it's likely my scrambled brain patching together memories, fantasies, and current experiences."

He handed over the sketchbook, and tried not to appear nervous as his doctor slowly studied, slowly turned the pages.

"Wow," the doctor commented on around page four, "you are quite good. This fire, this is pretty disturbing. The city seems familiar. I wonder if it's based on something I might have seen or read as well."

The doctor gave a startled grunt. Ah, page 9. That would do it. A close-up view of the doctor himself, dressed in odd clothes but somewhat different than those of most of the dream figures. A black V necked jacket, deliciously close fitting instead of the baggy top most wore, a thin black sword in hand, looking back at the viewer. Despite the sword, the smoke and the rubble of ruined buildings in the background, despite the urgent movement evident from the lean of his body, the doctor was smiling kindly in the image, encouragingly, with warm eyes alive even in the sketch with tenderness and confidence.

He looked away, suddenly afraid of what the doctor would read into his portrayal. Like every fool before him, he was certain his feelings were real. Ichigo meant more to him than any simple acquaintance should. That image advertised his affection in every line, and he had just handed it over to the object of that affection. Well, no taking it back now. He heard the rustle of the page turning and relaxed just a little. Minutes passed and he dared to look back.

His doctor glanced up, expression for once unreadable, and then studied a few more pages. The book was handed back silently. He studied that handsome face, and the doctor was studying him just as carefully.

"There is something you need to see. Yuzu and I had planned to show you a little later today. Give me just a minute."

He watched in amazement as the doctor left, and stared at the door for a good five minutes before his nerves started to get the better of him again. He flipped to page 9. Was this simply how he saw the doctor in his mind? It didn't feel like that. But the alternative was that this was an actual memory, and that was simply impossible. Wasn't it? He studied the younger version of Ichigo, and felt himself calming down. The look in those eyes, was it for him? He sincerely wished for that reality, with all the implied danger and violence. A reality where Ichigo looked at him with love.

Whatever he expected, it wasn't Ichigo returning with that mirror where he first saw his own face. Yuzu entered behind him, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what was about to happen.

"So, Tatsuki and Kobayashi agreed you could have a bath today, without your neck brace. You've been in a brace, unable to turn or look down, any time you've had privacy so far, and you need to know what to expect."

He raised a brow as Ichigo placed the mirror on the table and sat on the edge of the bed. They were eye to eye, a rarity that he wished he could stop to appreciate.

"You have been injured before. It is one of the biggest mysteries about you. There are some scars that could only be caused by serious wounds, yet we were not able to find any treatment records. Just as we hesitated to show you your face until we were fairly sure it would not cause a mental or physical setback, we have put this off in case it triggers memories of what might have caused the scarring. Do you understand what I am talking about?"

"You treat me as if I am made of glass. Have I not shown more strength? Get on with it."

It was an orange brow that was raised this time. "Told you," the doctor commented dryly with a glance at the therapist.

"I am going to untie your robe and move it away for your chest. I am not removing the brace; you still aren't conditioned out of making sudden movements."

He clenched his jaw as the doctor's hands moved. They were careful, holding the fabric up slightly to avoid touching his skin, the same way all the staff were taught to move around him. Even though he was full of anxiety about what he would see, he wished those long fingers were not quite so careful. He kept his eyes on the doctor's face and saw no reaction, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman flinch. That bad, huh?

The mirror was unfolded and held up. He took a deep breath and looked down at the reflection. The air left his lungs in a sudden rush. So much damage, how had he survived? What had he survived? His hand automatically went to the wide and long scar down his left side, the boldest of the marks. Whatever caused it had barely missed his heart. There were others that were obviously caused by nearly fatal wounds. One solid line in his right shoulder, he somehow knew there was a matching scar on his back. That one had gone straight through. That one what?

Swords. Knives. That's what. That cut along his right ribs, right around the edge from the front as if he had spun around the edge of a potentially killing blow. Oh, that gash above the naval. That had to have been agonizing. How had he survived such a thing? Even if he hadn't been disemboweled, gut wounds were famous for sepsis. And yet it was a smooth white line on pale skin. They were all completely, unnaturally smooth.

His doctor must have read his thought as his fingers carefully moved back and forth on the skin, not feeling any ridge of healed flesh. If he closed his eyes and ran his hand across his chest, he would never feel or suspect the reality.

"Another mystery. With extremely careful care and possibly plastic surgery scars can be nearly erased. But not ones that big."

His hand and eyes went back to that line torn all the way from his shoulder, past the heart, down the ribs and then curving out toward the hip. He could see on his shoulder that the wound had gone all the way through him, at least at the top. Not possible, no one could survive that. The blade must have ripped through ribs, diaphragm, lung. His left arm and side would have hung by mangled tissue. Seconds only he would have lived. It would have been so excruciating, the damage so catastrophic that he would have instantly gone into shock, mercifully unable to feel at all as he collapsed. He would have fallen to the floor with wide eyes, not believing the truth as his life left in a brief and violent cascade of red.

He was having trouble breathing, his vision blurring and head suddenly throbbing. The mirror was hastily folded and set aside. He pulled his head back when he felt a hand on his cheek. The hand moved away.

"Slow breaths. Come on, breathe with me. Look at me."

He did. He looked at brown eyes filled with tenderness and confidence and before he knew it his right hand was gripping the white coat and yanking. He pulled them together, his other arm wrapping around the tan neck as he pressed his lips to the ones he had been watching and dreaming of tasting for his entire, short existence. The doctor held perfectly still as he moved his lips against that sweet mouth, and for just an instant the doctor moved the tiniest bit closer, the lips of the doctor softened almost imperceptibly.

I only lasted a few seconds, far too short and far too long. He let go with a gasp, too shocked to even truly appreciate the thrill he felt or the embarrassment he expressed. He didn't regret his actions. He only regretted that he had to let go.

"I . . . god, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have . . . I didn't . . .."

"Easy. Easy now. It's okay. Don't panic, just breathe."

The doctor straightened a bit but didn't stand or put distance between them, his face calm, the professional mask firmly in place. Nearby the therapist watched, completely the impartial witness. He closed his eyes and held his breath for a moment, regaining control of his emotions. There were more important things to think about than misplaced affection and the need to cling to something real.

"My sketchpad." He fumbled and found the book. He flipped quickly through to a drawing of two men standing above a crumpled form on the ground. The man in the foreground, he stared at that figure in the familiar antique costume, this time with an open white jacket, a haori. For some reason, he didn't think the square eyeglasses belonged, though he had drawn exactly what he envisioned.

"What is it?"

He didn't look up. "This man. This is true, I know this for a fact. This man gave me that scar."


	11. Chapter 11

"Do you think it's true?"

"The psychologist in me says that it only matters that he believes it's true. I don't know, Ichigo. It's possible, but it isn't much to go on."

"Well, we have to call the cops anyway. Even without a name, his sketches are very detailed. It's something. And if that man tried to kill him once, then he might have done it twice."

He refilled his tea, needing all the soothing liquid he could get his hands on. It was a good thing he didn't keep liquor around. Ichigo wasn't a drinker, but today could make anyone want a little liquid courage. It had taken twenty minutes more of asking questions and calming the patient down each time he became nervous or angry again. It was as close as they'd ever gotten to a truth, whether it was factual or figurative, about the man's past.

Ichigo felt far off balance. Everything had been moving so quickly in terms of physical recovery, and so slowly with mental recovery that he had wondered if they would ever make progress. Then, almost overnight the memories start to come back in a way that is puzzling and difficult to work with. And finally, the last hour or so of chaos.

Those lips had been so firm and confident, like the nameless man knew exactly what he wanted. It didn't feel like a panic reaction, an act of desperation. It had taken every ounce of willpower to keep still, to not give in to the temptation, the electricity that raced through him when the patient had pressed close to him.

"Well, you know what you have to do, then. I think it would be wise to remove that one sketch from the rest. Unless you want the police suspecting you and chasing down dragons."

"By which you mean it will ruin his credibility. As if not knowing his name, his attacker's name, or what happened to cause either the old injuries or the new ones wasn't enough doubt."

"You believe him."

"Yeah, I do. He's honest, and very self-aware. He wouldn't make a declaration about a fact if he thought there was any way it was just his mental status making him see ghosts."

"You admire him quite a lot."

"What are you doing, Yuzu? Shrinking me?"

She smiled and leaned against his desk as he looked up at her warily.

"Don't want to tell me all your secrets? Would it help if I told you that our dear patient told me you were having some problems and could use someone to talk to?"

"That's ridiculous."

"Oh? So, your patient is wrong, then. I knew he wasn't all that brilliant."

He laughed. "Now reverse psychology? Try harder."

"Okay. How's Orihime?"

He winced, and bit back an angry retort. He knew he needed to talk about his marriage to someone other than his patient. So many times he had stared at his phone, on the verge of calling his father, Chad, even Yuzu despite not wanting to make her feel like he was taking advantage of her profession. But he had stopped himself every time. How could he talk to anyone about it when he had no idea what had happened? And he still couldn't say how he felt about the entire mess.

"You are not my therapist, Yuzu."

"No, I'm your sister. I've known you longer than anyone, and I'm not blind. Stop treating me like an idiot."

"Only if you stop treating me like a patient."

"Dammit, Ichigo! Stop deflecting."

Dammit? Yuzu blushed if she said gosh darn. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like a complete ass for pushing her when she was just trying to help.

"I don't know what to say, Yuzu."

And he didn't. He could not put into words the horrid feeling he had been having for over a month now, the feeling that he was walking on earth that was cracking with each step, or perhaps crossing a lake covered with fragile ice was a better metaphor. It hadn't stopped, only paused for a couple of days and then returned with a vengeance. And it all went back to him and Orihime, this odd distrust and sense of unfamiliarity that came out of nowhere. For a time, he had thought it had to have something to do with the patient, his patient. But it had little to do with him, Orihime had never seen him, never spoken to him. No, it was something deeper, older between them, no one outside of their marriage could be accountable.

"That's always true, you aren't the only one, Ichi-nii." She hadn't called him that in a long time, and it made him smile through the gloom of his thoughts.

"Let's start with the hours you've been spending here and at the hospital. I'm not going to sugarcoat you like a patient. You're avoiding home, which can only mean you're avoiding your wife. Start talking. Doesn't matter how or if it even makes sense, just start."

So he did. He told her about that lunch, that's the first time he ever noticed it, when his kind, gentle wife denied the humanity of a stranger in need. He told her how he had started looking at her as if she was a stranger, without really knowing why he felt that way. And how he had seen the same look in her eyes, as if she really did not know him. He talked about how he had started going for his morning runs earlier or she would leave an hour ahead of schedule just to avoid him, and suddenly they both found themselves too busy for lunch or to pop by the other's office during the day. He told her of the night he came home to find a locked bedroom door, and how he had not felt that upset about moving some clothes into the spare room the next day.

He heard his sister gasp as he confessed he had not been home in more than two weeks. He had left messages, texts, emails the first three days. Orihime had never answered, and on day four he completely stopped trying. His wife could be dead for all he knew. And then it just came out. Unplanned, uncontrolled, in words he barely heard though he knew they may be some of the most important words he had ever uttered.

"I care for her, always have. But I had no idea then what love meant. I never loved her, Yuzu. I know it now, I've never loved anyone but him. Not the way pop loved mom, not the way you love Jinta, not the way Orihime used to love me. I don't understand how I let this happen, how I just gave up. And it's my fault. I've ruined her life, and I don't know what to do about it."

Then she said something that sent him plummeting into one of those widening cracks in his life, with no hope of ever recovering solid ground.

"You never loved anyone but . . . who?"

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The bath was every bit the immense pleasure he had anticipated. They let him soak until the water was starting to feel cold, and he went to fresh sheets feeling truly clean for the first time in, well, as long as he could remember. The doctor did not return to talk about what had happened, did not stop to check on him, did not come to tell him goodnight. It was just as well. In his current state of mind, he simply could not lie. The doctor would ask what he meant by that kiss, and he would not be able to pass it off as panic. There was too little truth in his world, and he would not deny what he knew. This much he had learned about his real self – he was a fool.

To the sometimes odd rhythms and often odder lyrics of alternative rock, he sat and wore through the remainder of the first sketchpad and started on another. He switched hands easily whenever one started to cramp, the quality of the drawings did not falter. That man, the one who had nearly killed him, his face filled page after page. His image changed, barely recognizable, from the plain and shaggy bespectacled first image to someone more suave and sinister.

He took a moment to stare at the sketch of a wide back, slick hair and the edge of that devious face visible. Blood was spreading from the sword piercing that back. Had he killed that man? No, he knew that he had not. Just as he had survived catastrophic damage, somehow that man had survived the violent encounter.

Other visions made their way onto the paper. A symbol, a 10 within a rhombus frame. A building, higher quality but not unlike the wooden ones he so often saw ablaze, with that symbol on the doors. A desolate desert under a cold moon, the sands littered with the dead and dying. A tall stone obelisk, every inch covered with names and that symbol again carved deep in the stone, incense burning and a simple offering of daffodils.

He paused again, wiping impatiently at tears so they would not cloud his vision. And still he drew. Pages of the dragon, and an even stranger looking man that the others, with a haughty stare, long hair, strange make-up or a tattoo creating an X on the center of his face. A gathering of huddled, despondent figures around multiple fires in darkness. A figure wrapped in a shapeless cloak, stands of black hair around a mask with six slots cut into it. Another mask, with skeletal teeth, narrow eyes, and dark streaks on one side.

Ichigo. So young, in baggy pants and a T-shirt, surrounded by indistinct figures, a casual smile on his face. So young, with a fierce scowl and blood splattered across his cheek, huge sword cutting through an almost comically cliché monster. Ichigo lying back on a grassy slope, his smile seemingly made of sunlight, scattered violets in his hair, laughter in chocolate eyes. Ichigo with head bowed, tears creating clean streaks through the dark smudges which he knew were the ashes of the burning city. That proud body bent, on his knees on a reflective floor, two swords on the ground in front of him, looking up with unbearable love and grief in his eyes.

The carbon pencil snapped in his hand as his fist clenched and the picture blurred. He let his head relax back onto the pillow, neck, arms, hands aching. He didn't allow the scream of frustration that wanted to break free. It was awful, a terrible, frightful existence these pictures revealed. They could not be true, but what twisted life had he lived to bring him such nightmares? A life that led to waking up alone in a hospital bed, a broken neck, scars that should have killed him a dozen times over.

He was no longer sure that he wanted to remember.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Sitting behind the wheel, he debated. The car had been idling along with his mind for at least 20 minutes, and he still hadn't decided what to do. Every time his thoughts seemed to go in one direction, it was as if they just drifted off. He wasn't angry, though he thought he would be. He wasn't sad, though he knew that he should be.

He didn't care. That was it, this didn't matter to him at all. Perhaps it once had mattered, or he had at least convinced himself that it did. He didn't think so. And he didn't care. With a sense of profound relief, he turned the key and got out to stroll past the gray sedan that didn't belong in his driveway. Or maybe it did. It probably belonged here much more than his own car at this point.

He looked curiously at his house, perhaps for the last time. This had been a dream come true, a brand new home no one had ever lived in before. A place for him to build a life and a family with Orihime, free of anyone's memories but their own. It didn't really reflect its owners. He didn't cut the lawn, or fix the leaky gutter. She never cleaned or picked out the interior design. It was all put together and maintained by paid strangers. What had ever made him think of it as his home?

Pushing the small, glowing button was just further proof of how out of place he was here. He waited patiently, eyeing the knee-high pot of assorted plants that he did not know the names of. The gardener had chosen them, tended them, taken pride in the beautiful display. This was more the gardener's home than his own. A shame the mortgage company didn't see it that way.

He looked up with a bland smile when the door opened and he heard a soft gasp. She took a half step back, her hand on the door as if she would close it. Perhaps his non-threatening expression made her hesitate. When his good friend and business partner stepped out of the kitchen to see who was at the door, he made brief eye contact and looked back at his wife.

"Orihime. Sorry to intrude. Would you mind if I retrieve a few things? You can give the rest away, or toss it, or I'll pay someone to haul it off. Just let me know what's best."

"Ichigo, I would rather you didn't just drop by unannounced like this."

"I did try to call ahead. It's rather difficult to announce my plans when you do not answer the phone or texts." He spoke without any condemnation, just calmly stated the facts. "No need to make this awkward, Uryu's here to protect you. I'll just take a minute. Hey, Uryu. Answer your email sometime, we really have to settle on the insurance for next year."

In other circumstances their expressions would have made him laugh. It was an unlikely blend of guilt, nervousness, surprise, a bit of fear. Fair enough, he did have a temper, and reason to be furious with each of them. They had no way of knowing that he felt not one shred of anger about any of this, not anymore. They were both staring, entirely thrown by his nonchalant attitude.

"Oh, come on guys. We're all adults, strange as that may seem. This only has to be difficult if we want it to be."

Uryu pushed up his glasses with a smirk, recovering much more quickly than Orihime. It wasn't out of arrogance or unkindness, it was just the man's default expression, he knew. It was as close as Uryu got to a genuine smile. His friend had always been logical, emotionally aloof though sometimes so transparent with his feelings that it was painful to witness. Uryu would gladly accept Ichigo's offer of a peaceful and reasonable transition, and the two of them could come through this without much damage to their friendship. He couldn't help a little grin in return.

"I'll schedule something for Monday. You need a hand getting your things?"

His wife turned to look at her lover, or soon-to-be lover, he didn't know and no longer cared. He used the opening created to slip by her as she looked back and forth in shock.

"No thanks, there isn't much I want."

He took the stairs by twos, blocking out the tense whispers as the pair argued. Fighting already. It had taken him and Orihime 7 years of marriage to quarrel, and look how that bizarre little spat had ended. Perhaps their way was better. At least it showed some passion in the relationship. He found his duffel bag in the closet and stuffed it with a couple more outfits, and many odds and ends he had been missing. He double checked the bedroom and the guest room, nothing left that he cared about. He sighed as he said a silent farewell to this part of his life and headed back down, making plenty of noise on the stairs so they could stop talking about him.

"That will do it. Hime, just send me the name of your lawyer if you decide to go that route. Better yet, let me know when we three can sit and talk about an amicable divorce. The clinic was always legally exempt. I won't argue about anything else. Oh," he reached deep into a pocket and pulled out a single gold and emerald earring, one of the set he had bought for their 5th anniversary, "this got mixed in with my stuff. Sorry about that." He set the earring on the end table and turned to leave.

"Ichigo, is that it? Why aren't you angry?"

He turned back with another mild smile. "You want me to be?"

"Well, no. And yes, I guess. Don't you even care?"

"Of course, I do. I care that you were unhappy, and I hope it gets better. Sorry, Hime, that's all I've got, all I ever had. You know that."

He left as she started crying on his friend's shoulder. Numb. Everything before now, every day before now he had been completely numb. He was honest with himself now. He had always expected more from love, the fairy tale, the breathless romance, the thrill of adventure, and the comfort of coming home. A sweet, resonant voice reminded him 'If she provides you true joy, you sink your teeth in and do not let go. You throw yourself and all that you are at her feet and you do not let go, no matter the price.'

Grinning at the shadow of the new moon, he tossed his bag in the passenger's seat and headed to his hotel. Tomorrow he would throw himself at the feet the only person that had ever made him feel joy simply by being alive. He was an idiot, in love with a nameless man. It would never work. It was a terrible mistake, an outright disaster before it even happened. But he would sink his teeth in and hold on for dear life.


	12. Chapter 12

Evidently, it had been a rough evening at the clinic. Ayane had arrived early, as was her habit, and read the notes of the B and C shifts in amazement. She wanted to rush to 310's room, but waited for the morning meeting. Hanakari-san would not be in until noon, her version of a day off. Dr. Kurosaki should be arriving any minute, having called to say he was stopping at the hospital first. That left her in charge of 1A, and she had duties to perform.

As soon as the day was started, she went to see the patient, anxious to talk about the reported breakthrough. The notes said his memories were returning, though very disjointed and distorted still. Ayane could not wait to learn more about him, to see the final picture of this complicated puzzle. She paused and slowly closed the door to go back to work. He was asleep, bruises under his eyes. Normally he was a light sleeper, and would wake at the sound of the door. Yesterdays events must have been exhausting. She could let him rest until breakfast was ready.

It was difficult to focus as she went about her other work, her thoughts drifting back to 310. Physically, he was nearly healed enough to be discharged. She had been dreading that, seeing him go with no idea who he was, no answers to the riddles. Now it seemed she may get to learn at least part of the truth. What kind of man knew dozens of languages, held knowledge of advanced science, mathematics, history, and so much more in his early twenties? Who had hurt him, and why? How did he exist with no personal or medical identity?

She caught herself before she made a mistake mixing the vitamins and protein in the mushy food. At least it wasn't bland, she had tested it herself. Hanakari-san came up with every recipe, and managed to make the unappetizing looking goo taste like actual food. 310 was going to enjoy the treat she had asked for. He had been eating some softer solids, and finely cut watermelon was featured this morning.

A call from Itaru in the front got her attention. She wasn't startled, the notes said the police had been informed of 310's possible recovery of his memories. But she was a little surprised at how early they had arrived. She sent Hirota to wake the patient and serve his breakfast, sorry to miss his reaction to the melon. The police would just have to sit tight for 15 minutes and let the man eat. Sending a quick text to Dr. Kurosaki and Hanakari-san to let them know, she went to delay the interrogators.

What she found in the waiting area was not what she expected. The man and woman chatting with Itaru about coffee were nothing like cops. The woman was far too . . . um, pretty? Was that a sexist thing to think? Despite a rather deep scar on the right side of her jaw, she was quite beautiful. Shining blonde hair layered just past her shoulders and pale blue eyes, a curvy figure, several buttons of her blouse undone to expose an indecent amount of cleavage, designer jeans and practical low heels, she looked more like a fashion model than a cop.

And just behind her was an equally out of place man, with a long ponytail of white hair. His pale skin, cheerful expression, and casual designer clothes shouted pampered rich boy, not policeman. Over one shoulder was a soft case, long and narrow. A gun? It would have to be a big one, a rifle. Something about him made Ayane wary, like he was not what he seemed to be even more so than the woman. Wait. White hair with a face that looked no more than 35, 40 at a stretch. A relative of 310?

Itaru handed the blonde woman a mug and turned toward her with a look of relief.

"Ah, here's Kobayashi-san, the nurse specialist in charge. This is Inspector Matsumoto, and a police psychologist, Ukitake-san, was it?"

"Yes, it is. Pleased to meet you, Kobayashi-san."

"Kobayashi-san, can you show us in? We need to speak to the young man as soon as possible."

"I'm afraid you must wait just a little while, Inspector. The patient has just been served breakfast, and his health is our top concern. May I see your identification, please?"

The blonde blinked at her, then smirked and rummaged in her back pocket. Those jeans were so tight that Ayane doubted she could even fit her hand in. But the supermodel-turned-cop produced the typical slim wallet with ID and badge. Well, she supposed she was wrong to judge, yet again.

"Very well, if you will wait here, I'll return for you shortly."

They were both quiet, after seeming so animated when talking with Itaru. Something about them still made her nervous, but she assumed she had just become rather protective of her lucky charm. Answering texts from her bosses said they were both on their way. She would keep the police away from 310 until they arrived, just to be safe. Once again, she resisted the urge to visit him, instead getting as much done for the diva as possible so that she could be free to help 310 if needed.

When Dr. Kurosaki came rushing in through the side door 10 minutes later, he looked around anxiously and locked eyes with her.

"Are the police in with him?"

"No, doctor, I stalled them in the lobby."

"Good, very good."

She trailed a bit behind as he headed for the front. When he opened the door, he paused and then rushed forward. Itaru was slumped in his chair, head on the desk and arms dangling. The police were nowhere. Dr. Kurosaki had briefly checked on Itaru.

"Take care of him, please, Kobayashi."

He brushed past her and she heard him shout to the nurses' station to call the police. She knew he was heading for 310, but she focused on Itaru even when she heard a harsh scream. She couldn't tell if it was pain, anger, grief, or a mix of all of that and more. But she knew the voice of her patient and her heart sank.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He was not particularly surprised. Between the lack of identity, the haunting scenes of carnage and fantasy, and his emotional instability he had already concluded that he was mentally compromised. So, when between one bite of watermelon and the next, two familiar-looking people appeared out of thin air in his room, he simply upgraded mentally compromised to insane. He didn't want his hallucinations to get the upper hand, so he spoke first.

"Well, nice of you to visit in person instead of just giving me nightmares."

"Oh, taicho, what happened? We've been searching for you for weeks!"

The buxom blonde sped to him and grabbed his hand, knocking the table out of her way. Should figments of his imagination be able to do that, he wondered as he yanked his hand away. Or he tried to. She was rather strong.

"Unhand me, woman. Just because I have gone insane does not mean I have to be molested by my own delusions."

Fortunately, she did drop his hand, looking surprised as she sat uninvited on the edge of his bed. The other stepped forward more politely.

"Hitsugaya-taicho, do you know who we are?"

"Should I? What did you call me?"

The illusions exchanged concerned glances, and he chuckled at their expressions. Going crazy was at least entertaining. The man slipped a black case off his shoulder as the woman looked back at him and gave him a sad smile.

"Hitsugaya Toshiro, you'll remember soon."

He started to push himself up, amusement giving way to growing alarm, though he did not know what good it would do to run from them, as if he was capable of running to being with. Then his eyes locked on the man's hand, wrapped around a light blue hilt above a four-pointed guard. A dark blue sheath followed and his heart began to race, he was dizzy, so many of those fragmented dreams flashing through his head as he stared at the long katana. The man moved toward him, holding the sword hilt out in front of him. He pushed back with nowhere to go, trying to get away from the thing as if it was about to strike, his hands firmly down against the mattress.

"Toshiro, take it. Take back your power."

He heard Ichigo's voice calling but he could not make out the words. Then every sound, every thought was drowned out by a much deeper, more powerful voice, the voice that had been haunting the edges of his sleep. He heard it, the name reverberating in his head, the name which had been eluding him for so long. He reached, his fingers stretching eagerly even as his arm hesitated. His hand wrapped around the hilt and he screamed as the voice became a deafening roar that shattered his tortured thoughts and brought them all rushing so painfully back together.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He pounded on the door, pulled on it, that horrid scream still ringing in the air. There was no lock, why wouldn't the damned thing open! He yanked harder, focusing all his attention and will on forcing it to yield or break. When it suddenly gave he nearly fell as he rushed into the room, only to be harshly grabbed and slammed against a wall. He lashed out, one hand trying to pry away the arm across his chest, the other failing to punch a stern-faced stranger as the man dodged, ducking his head down so quickly Ichigo couldn't even see the movement.

A hand pressed to his forehead and suddenly he couldn't move, could barely breathe. One flash of panic for the safety of his patient gave way to panic for himself as he stared into fierce brown eyes. His eyes could still move, and he looked over his assailant's shoulder to see another stranger, arms wrapped around the patient, his patient, rocking back and forth as her hand stroked white hair. He heard muffled sobs, his patient's face buried in the woman's shoulder and his arms around her, fine fingered hands clutching at her hair and back.

All desire to resist left him as he stared. His thoughts ground to a halt, unable to process what he was seeing.

"Didn't you put up a barrier, Ukitake-taicho?" The woman's voice was calm and slightly chiding.

"Of course, I did. Reiatsu bound or no, you try stopping Kurosaki when he wants to fight."

The man holding him up moved his arm, guiding Ichigo's body as it slid bonelessly down the wall. Still he just stared, hearing the words that made no sense, watching the scene that made even less. He didn't even care that he couldn't move, other than a momentary bout of hysteria. His patient had told him he needed to experience this helplessness, after all. Now he had his chance.

"Taicho, it's going to be okay. I'm here now, taicho."

"It will be harder for him to let go of the gigai with these synced injuries. He's almost healed, though."

Now the man reached for his patient, and he swore the hand was glowing as it settled against the pale arm wrapped around the woman. His heart clenched. None of this seemed real, but these people had to know his patient, truly know the young man in a way he didn't and now probably never would. At least the heartbreaking sobs had quieted.

"St . . . stop," he forced the word out though his jaw and lips fought movement. "Don't . . . t-touch . . ."

The man in the very odd outfit and silly hat looked at him, not moving his hand.

"We're not going to hurt him, Kurosaki Ichigo. We have been his friends for decades."

The blonde glared over her shoulder. "Stay out of it, coward, and stay away from him. You've done enough damage."

"Matsumoto . . . Ran, don't."

That dear voice was a little ragged, but calm. Pale hands loosened and then went to the neck brace to remove it. The woman immediately moved to take over, stripping the brace and tossing it aside. His patient didn't look at him, but he clearly saw the tear streaked face, the eyes filled with even more pain than when he first woke in the hospital.

"Taicho," her hands brushed the cheeks he longed to caress, and the patient didn't flinch away from her touch, "Toshiro, are you okay?"

Toshiro. A name for the nameless man, and Toshiro seemed to know her name, as well. It was so wrong, the devastation he felt as his mystery patient slipped away from him. What was she? His lover, his wife? She called him captain, but did not treat him like someone she had only a professional relationship with. It was too late. 10 minutes. He could have skipped his morning run. He could have come straight to the clinic. He could have driven back here last night. Why had he waited? Nothing was more important than this, and now it was over. His eyes shut in pain and anger.

"Toshiro."

All was silent for a moment. There was a rustling of movement. A whisper of steps.

"Ichigo."

He opened his eyes to meet those of a stranger who knelt before him. Ageless eyes, full of an almost alien power and wisdom, immense suffering and rage. A cool hand reached to wipe away the tear trickling down his cheek. The smooth voice was confident now, and so very, very sad.

"Thank you for what you have done for me, Ichigo. Your kindness will never be forgotten."

The stranger stood, turning away without another word to him.

"Ukitake, we cannot leave a body here with no explanation, but I cannot endure this for another instant."

The man smiled and reached to touch yet again. There was a flash of light and Ichigo gasped as the man caught the falling body of his patient. And yet, there Toshiro stood a few feet away, in the same bizarre, black clothing he had sketched so many times, a sword at his hip and a white coat.

Ichigo chuckled, and the turquoise eyes swiveled back in his direction. He couldn't help the bitter amusement. Here he was, helpless to move anything but his eyes, barely able to speak, and now completely doubting his sanity. There stood the crippled, nameless patient, radiating pride and command, somehow simultaneously more vital and less real. A white eyebrow rose and the faintest smile lightened the majestic features. For just an instant, he saw his patient once more in the glint of humor in those remarkable eyes. The bright, kind, intriguing man that made his heart race with just a look. The man he had felt more for than anyone he had ever met.

 _Grab hold, don't let go whatever the price._

"Toshiro, please. I love you."

Toshiro flinched as if physically struck. Lovely eyes widened, then became unreadable as the perfect features stiffened into a mask of cold impassivity. The woman had hissed and practically launched herself at Ichigo, not that he cared. The other man had stopped her, shoving the body into her hands as he whispered tense words that Ichigo didn't try to hear. He just kept his eyes on Toshiro as the man he loved turned away again, drawing his sword.

Now he was certain he had completely lost touch with reality, as a glowing gateway appeared, double doors sliding open, light and bells invading the room. Without one look back, his heart left him.


	13. Chapter 13

**This plot is taking a hard turn. If you really liked the AU, hospital drama story, you might just want to consider the previous chapter the ending . . .**

sherryfanfic1999 - Exactly, I absolutely _love_ that you compared it to chewing gum. I'm sad to say I've seen a lot of marriages that were just like that, based on each partner's _idea_ of who the other should be, instead of the reality of who the other truly is.

* * *

How many centuries had he witnessed? How many wars? And yet the simplest of emotions still moved him to feel compassion. He had released the kido binding Kurosaki, but the young man just hung his head and struggled against shaking breath and trembling hands.

Fate was terribly unkind, bringing the two young men together again in such vulnerability. Toshiro had been torn apart daily for months when Kurosaki left him, then shut down completely for years. The young captain had only just started to let his few friends back in, and now this. As for Kurosaki, the young man could have lived out the admittedly short time left to him in relative peace, before the war he had fled finally caught up to him. Now both were terribly wounded once more, and Juushiro couldn't help the silly, superstitious belief that there had to be some purpose in all this sorrow. That they should meet twice in one lifetime, that they should fall in love twice and still not be allowed happiness was too cruel even for this tormented world.

His practical, dutiful side saw even more to the tragedy. Once, not so very long ago, Soul Society had stood in great debt to this human. And perhaps they had depended too much on the strength of a teenager, the loyalty of a living boy with a shaky and difficult history of alliance and distrust. When it came down to the critical moment, what really did Kurosaki owe to Soul Society? Nothing at all. Juushiro's side had treated their savior with suspicion, disdain, and scorn.

One thing was certain, no benefit could come of this trauma if Juushiro simply left. But who knew what might be reaped if he sowed a few seeds? So, he sat in the nearby chair and talked, flipping slowly through the sketchpads he found near the bed. The human leaned his head back against the wall with eyes shut and simply listened. Kurosaki had been wiped clean, and no longer knew of Soul Society, Shinigami, the war he had won, the war he had lost. He didn't give much detail, but enough to connect the pictures in his hands to reality, to provide a framework for Kurosaki to build upon or tear down.

He told the human of his lost power, the legend that he had lived as he faced and defeated Aizen at such a great cost. He told the quiet figure of the struggle to regain power, and the return to face an even greater threat with Aizen as an unlikely and forced ally. And finally, he told the end. The Quincy army and their king defeated, Aizen loose from his restraints. With all enemies crippled, it was so easy for the once imprisoned villain to pick up the pieces and resume his own conquest.

"No one knows what happened, not even Toshiro and he was the only witness other than you and Aizen. The only explanation that fits is that you struck a deal with Aizen, your power and your memories, your friends' powers and memories in exchange for your life and the safety of your friends and family. You vanished from Soul Society, left the war behind, and the search for you found you back where you belonged, with no memory of and no interest in anything supernatural.

"Since that day we have fought a lost war, a rebellion really with no end in sight. We survive, we do what damage we can, but Heaven has fallen. Soul Society is a war zone. The Living World is already targeted. You bought yourself a decade, maybe two, but the war will spill over, taking all that you hold dear, destroying all that you gave up the ability to protect."

Still Kurosaki said nothing, just sat and listened. With a sigh, he stood to go. It was a lost cause after all.

"You are a liar."

He met the suddenly open and fiercely glaring eyes incredulously.

"Excuse me?"

"You lie. Even if I would betray allies that way, I would never bargain with an enemy."

Kurosaki stood, not dropping eye contact, and for the first time Juushiro recognized the insanely powerful Shinigami he remembered. Juushiro almost let anger get the better of him, and was amazed to feel his legendary composure nearly break. Kurosaki had always been rash, abrasive, high-handed. He hadn't judged the boy a traitor to Soul Society as most had, since his loyalty was never truly earned or sworn. But that did not mean he respected the decision the human had made, or the greater betrayal he committed, the betrayal that nearly destroyed Toshiro.

"You do not even know who you are, Kurosaki Ichigo, so do not presume to speak to me in that manner. What you chose to believe is your own business, and what sorrow your beliefs bring you is not my concern. I tell no lies."

"Then tell me this. If all you say is true, what was Toshiro to me?"

He had omitted that truth, and he was not certain the human deserved to know. But he had come this far, risking unpredictable consequences for the slim chance that an essential weapon could be recaptured for their side in this hopeless war. As he reached into the pocket of his shihakusho, he said a quick prayer that Toshiro would forgive him for what he was about to do.

The human stared at the small bag of black silk he held out, and took it in a slightly shaky hand. Not wanting to answer any further questions, he flash-stepped away from the clinic before opening a gate and leaving the small seeds of hope he had planted behind.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

When he opened the door, he stared, vaguely surprised that he could still feel surprise at all. He wandered toward the nurses' station and leaned against the counter, watching the staff go about their business professionally and calmly.

"Dr. Kurosaki, are you feeling alright?"

"Kobayashi . . . yes, I'm fine. Is my sister here?"

"She arrived over an hour ago, I think she's in her office. I'll have the empty room cleaned by the end of the shift."

"Empty room?"

"Yes, doctor, the mystery patient, that is to say, Hitsugaya-san's room. I'm so glad his family found him, after all!"

He watched her walk away, feeling like he was trying to wake from a dream. The screaming, the pounding on the door, Itaru unconscious . . . did they remember none of it? Mechanically, he went to the door to the lobby. Itaru looked up and smiled. Ichigo gave a confused and probably confusing wave and let the door shut. He went to find Yuzu. She, too sat at her desk scribbling on a chart as if nothing at all was wrong, as if the world had not turned inside out. She looked up without much interest, and did a double take as he fell into the soft chair across the desk.

"Ichigo? What is it?"

"Why are you here, Yuzu?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's only 11:30. You weren't coming until after lunch, something about hiking with Jinta."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. We canceled . . . I guess."

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through texts. No worried alert from Kobayashi about the cops' arrival. No panicked response that he was on his way. Had he gone crazy or had everyone else?

"What's that?"

He looked at his other hand, where his fingers toyed with a silken bag. Sliding his phone back in his pocket, he leaned forward, elbows on her desk and both hands now playing with the cloth. He felt the shape inside, and that was why he hesitated to open it. Glancing up at his sister, he smiled at her expression of curiosity.

"It's hope. Yuzu, did you meet Hitsugaya's family?"

"What? Um, no. They were gone before I got here. I'm sad that I didn't get to say goodbye."

"You are sad. You weren't a moment ago. Is there an address for them in the system?"

She looked confused, as well she might. He hadn't gone crazy. It had really happened, only no one remembered it. They didn't even realize that they had forgotten something until he reminded them. She turned to her computer while he fidgeted with the black silk.

"Here it is. Oh wow, back home in Karakura, Urahara Kisuke. What was he like?"

"Urahara? Not Ukitake, you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. What's gotten into you?"

Finally, his fingers pinched the thin fabric, pulling loose the delicate drawstring. He took a deep, steadying breath before upending the opened bag and catching the silver band. The outer edge was plain, pristine. His eyes caught the fine engraving as he turned the ring. The inner edge was carved deeply, two words that met and blended together in fine script.

 _Kurosaki Hitsugaya_

He smiled widely as he slipped the ring onto his finger, where he had never taken special care to wear his wedding band. It fit perfectly. Hope. He stared at the silver and let hope grow, that he would fix whatever had gone so terribly wrong with fate, that he would see Toshiro again.

"Ichi-nii?"

"I'm going to be taking a trip to Karakura tomorrow if you need anything from home. And I'll be arranging a vacation as soon as I can find coverage. Alrighty," he slapped the desk as he stood, still smiling ear to ear, "back to work then."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The day after they returned, her captain had them once again hard at work. Kyoraku and Isane had both tried to convince him to take a few days, to rest and to get back up to speed. Instead he immediately started catching up on events so that on the following day he was at the head of a squad taking out an outpost in the ruins of district 68. And she was there to guard his back, exactly where she belonged.

She knew what he was doing, she had seen it before. For the first few days she let him push himself, keep his mind busy, burn himself out. But even Hitsugaya Toshiro had limits, and on the fifth morning he did not wake. They had moved and split from the main force, a regular necessity. She sent a coded message, letting Kyoraku know that her squad would be out of commission for at least the day, and arranged a heavy guard rotation. They would stay camped and let their captain rest.

So accustomed to stealth warfare and the need to hide from the greater army that had defeated them, she did not even feel a change in reiatsu when he woke in the late afternoon. When she went to check on him, he was sitting on his bedroll, a distant look on his face as he stared at nothing. She went to get the pot of tea and plate of food she had set aside, warming them with kido and quietly setting them down near him. He blinked and glanced down, reaching for the tea.

"Still Tuesday?"

"Yes, taicho. Are you done trying to kill yourself?"

"Does it matter?"

Oh, how she wanted to find that stupid human and rip him apart! She hated herself for ever encouraging her captain to accept the boy's affection. She had trusted Ichigo. Her captain was the strongest man she had ever known, and the most fragile. She had trusted that coward to stand by her captain and be what she could not. And what had that little bastard done? Betrayed them all, betrayed Toshiro, who worshiped the ground that scum walked on.

Turquoise eyes were studying her, his face expressionless. She let her anger show, hoping it masked the grief. The last thing he needed was to think she was pitying him.

"Do you have it?"

She grit her teeth, but knew she could not lie to him. Her hand went to the pocket inside her kosode. His hand was already waiting when she pulled out the thick silver necklace. She did not offer to help him put it on, and frowned as he clasped the chain around his neck, the silver wedding band settling against his breastbone. The ring was far too small for him now, a reminder of how much had changed since the last time she had ever seen him happy.

He had never worn it on his hand; the world had fallen apart only days before Toshiro would have taken vows that would have bound him to a traitor. If it were her, she would have tossed that ring into the deepest, darkest hole she could find, just as she had once destroyed anything and everything that reminded her of Gin.

Once, she had argued with him about keeping that ring. Only once. She had never seen him that angry, not at her, and she'd rather die than see it again. So she sulked quietly.

"Go get a cup and have some tea. No need to waste the day, we can at least make plans for the next strike since I've thrown everything off schedule."

That was probably the best she would get out of him. After all, it had taken him nearly 10 years to smile again after Ichigo left. Since that day, they had lost nearly everything, and so many loved ones. He had lost his grandmother in the fall of Seireitei, when there was no time for mourning. The 10th had been essential in covering the retreat and regrouping of the Gotei in the last major confrontation 5 years ago, and had suffered the heaviest losses of any division. Toshiro had taken the sudden deaths of over half of his men hard, but he had grieved and moved on.

Not for the first time, she wished Ichigo had died. Then Toshiro could have dealt with the loss. He never sought out Ichigo, never asked about him. But knowing his lover was out there somewhere, living a normal human life without him, it kept the wound open and bleeding.

She sat and poured herself a cup of tea as he chewed disinterestedly on the tough cut of deer or rabbit or whatever the squad had managed to scare up. In one hand she had the carefully coded notes on enemy movements. Light, fast squads under a captain or lieutenant could act independently of central command. They had their pick of targets, and Toshiro was nothing if not a genius strategist. Being without him for nearly two months had been a serious setback. Worse, with no sign of his reiatsu, only old traces of his and an Espada's, it was assumed he had been killed or captured. It was only luck that their side had picked up on his weak reiatsu signature before the enemy.

"Do you know what I cannot stop thinking about?"

She blinked at him in surprise. He had gone back to staring at nothing, and she hadn't expected anything like conversation at this point. When she didn't respond he looked over at her.

"The odds. The mission was simple enough, one I had done many times before. What are the odds that plans leaked, or that I was accidentally discovered while so carefully concealed? A neurological injury that required transport to a specialist surgeon, him working in the hospital I was taken to, him being that specialist, what are the odds, Rangiku? My memory being completely gone, him taking me in when there was no benefit. Each element so unlikely, the odds against any of it astronomical."

"What are you suggesting, taicho? That there is such a thing as fate? If so, she's a bitch."

It was a false smile, barely there and gone. But it was something, even if it was brought on by her bitterness. Whatever response he had hoped for, that wasn't it.

"How old is this information?"

She handed him the notes. "3 hours for Rukongai west and north. Less than 2 hours for east and 45 minutes for south."

Immediately he brought the south notes to the top of the pile and she stayed silent while that remarkable mind went to work.


	14. Chapter 14

"Oh, damn. He really showed up. What are you going to do?"

"Calm down, Jinta. Let's just be patient and see what he does."

The nervous redhead paced, eyeing the monitor every few steps. Jinta had always been rather jumpy, overreacting and blowing things out of proportion. Not that the kid didn't have reason to this time, Kisuke mused. Fate was poised delicately at a turning point, once again swirling all her mystery around one equally unpredictable human. He smiled at the unaware epicenter of chaos on the screen as the man once more walking away, looking increasingly irritated.

Adjusting a knob on the monitor to follow his target, Kisuke watched the confused human stop a passing woman and show her a piece of paper. The woman shook her head and the man threw his hands up in the air in frustration as she walked on. Studying the paper, the man turned again, carefully inspecting each house and the building numbers. He had been circling the block for a good ten minutes before calling someone, Jinta's wife most likely to confirm the address, and then circling again. Now the orange head was turned right toward the monitor, the familiar face tightening in a very familiar expression of determination. Kisuke felt the pressure coming from him, so weak compared to what it used to be.

"Oho, still have a little bit of fire, eh, Kurosaki?"

"Stop him, Kisuke!"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"What the hell? You said he can't remember, that it would cause some kind of fracture in reality!"

"Oh, I was lying."

He chuckled at the shocked look from Jinta. Seriously, the kid had known Kisuke, well, since he was actually a kid. And he still hadn't caught on.

"Jinta, if you want to use such fanciful language, then reality is already fractured. Kurosaki started to remember when the young captain fell back into his life. Everyone nearby who had any significant power started to remember. Your wife has too little to be affected, but Kurosaki, his wife, the Quincy, they're all staring right into that fracture thanks to Hitsugaya's presence. And with all of the young captain's power focused on recovering his memory, how do you think that would affect those near him with gaping holes in their own memories?

"They probably don't remember any specifics yet and perhaps they never will. But all of them must feel, must know at the very deepest level that their lives are built on lies. What else do you think would have caused a perfectly boring and average marriage to suddenly implode? It wouldn't surprise me in the least if his wife and that Quincy kid show up here in due time, looking for their own answers. So stop worrying about it, it will play out the way it must."

"If it was that easy to wake up the strawberry, why didn't you just do it before?"

"You think I didn't try? Now, don't you think you should go? Or do you want to explain to the good doctor why his dear little sister's husband is in on the world's biggest secret?"

"If you bring him back, then he'll be dragged back into the war. They'll all be in danger again, him, his friends, his family . . . Yuzu."

"My dear boy, they already are."

"You're really going to do this?"

He looked back at the monitor as he allowed the barrier to thin. Brown eyes widened and stared for a moment before the man started walking quickly forward.

"Yes, my friend. I really am."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

 _"_ _It is bad enough that I must tell that fool 'No' again and again. I will not deal with the same obstinance from my own lieutenant."_

 _"_ _Taicho, you are the one being obstinate. I've seen the way you look at him, and he adores you. I'm not telling you to marry him, just get to know him a little. No one ever died from going out for coffee."_

 _"_ _I don't even like coffee. And you know as well as I that it's a terrible idea to encourage him when I can never give him what he wants, so stop before I make it an order."_

 _Another form joined the completed pile, and he kept his eyes on his work. He tried to stay calm, though he was increasingly agitated by these episodes. At first, he was just annoyed by the substitute Shinigami's frequent visits and invitations to join him for activities alone, what could only be called dates. The boy persisted, even after Toshiro's team left the Living World, and he began to grow angry._

 _"_ _I don't think it's a terrible idea at all, taicho, otherwise I wouldn't suggest it. But if you want to ignore the obvious and just keep being lonely, I don't suppose I can stop you. I just never thought you were one to lie to yourself."_

 _"_ _Get out." His voice was low and quiet, and she knew him well enough to know how close to breaking he was._

 _When the war had come, Kurosaki had sacrificed his power to bring Aizen down. More than that, he had thrown himself in harm's way, taking on Aizen's army in its own territory to save a friend, just as he had faced the entirety of Soul Society to save Kuchiki Rukia. Toshiro watched his selfless, heroic actions in awe and growing admiration. But temptation was ended along with the human's power. No more would he be bothered by that playful smirk and teasing voice. The substitute Shinigami was an ordinary human, incapable of popping up uninvited in his office to harass him._

 _"_ _Let me make you an offer, taicho."_

 _"_ _I said leave, Matsumoto."_

 _She shivered a bit as the temperature dropped. His temper was frayed, and he did not want her to know why. He had done his part to bring back Kurosaki's power, and he had done it gladly. It was more than duty. He wanted to help. He wanted that annoying, fearless, stubborn, kind, arrogant idiot back. He missed him, and thought maybe, just maybe he had made a mistake pushing him away so many times. And the first thing the idiot had done when he regained his power was to ask Toshiro out again, and again._

 _"_ _Hear me out, and then I promise I'll leave you alone, all alone just like you want to be."_

 _He glared, but she rushed on before he could retort._

 _"_ _The budget, taicho. Leave it to me, the whole thing. You can double check my work, of course."_

 _He blinked, anger derailed. That was two weeks of steady work, well for her anyway. He'd have it done in a week at most. A week, then, of office work he could avoid. More importantly, she would have no excuse; she would finally have to learn the ins and outs of the budget. He wouldn't let her get out of it, not any tiniest bit of it. And for what? An hour and choking down a vile drink._

 _Could he do it? She was right about one thing, he had become quite good at lying to himself. It was ridiculous, risking his position, his honor, his way of life for an infatuation. That's why he was so agitated. Anger, annoyance, attraction, temptation. Could he endure an hour of that and walk away?_

 _"_ _Deal. And don't even think of trying to get out of it, Matsumoto. I'm a heartbeat away from demoting you as it is."_

 _"_ _Saturday morning, then. I'll let Ichigo know. You won't regret it, taicho!"_

 _He clenched his teeth and tried to shut out the chatter as she failed to leave as promised, instead yapping about what he would wear on his date. She was wrong. He regretted it already._

He rubbed his eyes. Staring too long into a fire was pretty foolish, and the never-ending headache was worse thanks to it. Letting memories take over his mind was not helping. Momo had once told him it was just a stage in recovery, required for healing. But he'd been through this already. Last time, wallowing in the past had taken years of his time, and he still couldn't say that he healed. This time, he would not let himself be overwhelmed.

The squad had started to pack up, a little less than an hour until they would move. Today was, regretfully, going to be empty. They would change camps, expecting updated intelligence from the west for a strike the tomorrow. He hated having a more or less idle day. It gave him too much time to think.

His mood improved as his ears picked up at a set of whistles. Intruder in the camp, expected friendly, being verified. Perhaps it wouldn't be a wasted day, after all. He waited impatiently, protocol wisely demanding he keep his distance from the visitor in case they were hostile and hoping to target a captain. When the all-clear sounded, the visitor vanished. A courier, then, even better. He walked out to greet the day and the reiatsu-sealed envelope in Matsumoto's hand. Cracking the seal, he read quickly, his mind piecing together today's variations on the code from context.

"Matsumoto, have the squad battle ready in five minutes. Anything not ready to move, destroy it. We won't be able to come back."

She was too experienced to show much of the alarm she felt, but couldn't stop herself from asking.

"What is it, taicho?"

He looked up, eyes glowing with barely contained bloodlust. "Espada."

She raced away, and he quickly sorted what he needed, incinerating the rest. No better target could be had, since Aizen himself never left Reiokyu. The traitor's army had changed. His original Espada had been destroyed, only two remaining. Somewhere hiding in Hueco Mundo, a female Espada who had allied herself with Ichigo. And the former Sexta Espada, Grimmjow, hanging on in the shadows of Aizen's court. That one had lost all rank and privileges, yet he stayed, fighting for recognition, and betraying his master with every breath.

When he had been wounded and trapped in a broken gigai with no memory, he had been on his way to meet with Grimmjow. He was often the one assigned this mission, which required the ability to quickly reform strategies in case anything went wrong. Well, something had gone wrong. Now he had the opportunity to kill, or better yet, capture one of the new Espada. If fortune and skill were on his side, he may be able to learn what had happened, whether it was bad luck or if the Gotei had a traitor high enough to have known and leaked the plans.

As a bonus, he may learn if Grimmjow was still alive and unfettered. If the enemy learned of their plans, then Aizen would have slowly and painfully killed the turncoat by now. He couldn't say he didn't care. The former Espada pissed him off at every meeting, with unwanted advances and even more unwanted inquiries about Ichigo. But the information he provided was invaluable, and the lengths he went to, the treatment he put up with to get that information was worth respect.

The squad had gathered, drawing zanpakuto in response to seeing their captain with blade bare. He shared what he knew, which was not much, an Espada departed Seireitei, visiting a series of strongholds through Rukongai, heading north. Eight Shinigami would stake out and prepare to secure the enemy camp in north District 48. He would lead the rest to north District 46 in an attempt to intercept, and fall back to 48 if they were too late.

It could be a trap, but the slightly erratic path the Espada was taking told him it could also be legitimate. It was a sloppy attempt at stealth, the kind of error one made out of sheer arrogance. This Espada was convinced that he was safe, and that even if he was not safe the enemy could not hope to harm him. There was good reasoning behind this, it had been years since the Gotei had been able to even scratch an Espada.

Speed, and the ability to form plans with the barest of data and the narrowest of windows for reconnaissance, this was Toshiro's forte. The team drank in their captain's excitement, his wicked grin, his predatory stride. This was why the 10th captain's personal squad had more successful raids, more kills, and fewer casualties than any other. Even Zaraki had never taken one of the new Espada alive, but he would do it, or he would finally die trying.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

She was trying to stay focused on her work, something Yuzu never had trouble doing before. But ever since the day Hitsugaya left, she was having problems concentrating. No, that wasn't true, she was having problems ever since she really started to get to know the mystery patient. Who knows what he is like now? It's just the grieving process. The man is gone, in more ways than one, it's as if the person she had spent all those hours talking to had died.

If she was feeling it this strongly, then her brother must be truly suffering. She looked out at the clinic, where he stood chatting with a patient's family. No one would guess anything was wrong. His bright smile and attentiveness charmed everyone who met him, and his work had not suffered even with the increasingly frequent trips to Karakura. But then, how long had his marriage been falling apart, while she, a psychologist and his sister, was a few feet away and none the wiser? Her eyes searched for and caught the glint of silver on his hand. Not the brushed gold with the beveled edges she had helped Orihime pick out.

When her brother headed to his office, she was right on his heels, shutting the door behind her. He raised his brows as he set down some files and turned to face her.

"Everything alright, Yuzu?"

"No. And it isn't going to be until you tell me what's going on with you."

She expected his smile to be fake, reassuring. She was surprised to find it seemed genuine, like he was actually happy about something. That just could not be true. Unless her suspicions were right, that these trips to Karakura were to see Hitsugaya, the patient he had admitted falling in love with, the patient that had confessed similar feelings to her in therapy. But every time she asked about Hitsugaya, or Karakura, or that ring he just smiled and changed the topic, stubborn as a mule.

"Well," he sat at his desk with a nonchalant attitude, "I needed to talk to you anyway. You remember Dr. Fujita? She would need two weeks' notice to come here. I'll spend a week with her, making sure the transition goes smoothly. Then I'm on sabbatical, at least 6 months per our contract. I have told her this is all pending your approval, and she's prepared to come for a meeting to discuss any concerns. Since you already know each other, I was hoping it wouldn't be a problem."

Reaching blindly and waving her hand around in the air, she found the back of the chair and guided herself to over to it while the impossible words kept pouring out of his mouth. She knew she was sitting with her eyes wide and possibly her mouth was hanging open.

"Yuzu?"

". . . "

"Yuz, seriously, you're starting to freak me out."

"I . . . I'm freaking you out! What the hell are you talking about?"

He winced as she harshly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry."

Then they were both laughing. How odd it was; their dad was a lunatic, Karin was a rude loud-mouth, while Ichigo was only polite in front of strangers and swore like a sailor when he needed to vent. All the psych classes in the world couldn't explain to her why she couldn't say something as innocuous as 'hell' or 'darn' without feeling bad about it for an hour. She laughed so hard there were tears in her eyes, and she knew it wasn't just humor and embarrassment, but stress, sadness, all kinds of negative emotions just below the surface. Sometimes being a psychologist really sucked.

Her brother had gotten up, took a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, and came to her side of the desk. She took the bottle of water as he leaned on the desk next to her chair.

"I can't tell you, Yuzu. I'm not really sure what is going on myself, but I know that I can't bring anyone else into this until I know what they'd be getting into."

"That isn't helping, Ichi-nii. You've gotten into something dangerous, haven't you?"

"Yes. More dangerous than I hope you'll ever know."

She swallowed hard. Leave it to her brother to be brutally honest while still not telling her the truth. She really only had a couple of options. They could fight about it, and he'd shut down, never giving her even this much honesty about it again. Or she could hide the worry and hurt like he did, bottle it up and try to offer acceptance hoping that all of this would end before she couldn't take it anymore. Neither option was healthy; there was no winning.

"I'm sure Dr. Fujita and I will do just fine without you. Just . . . just don't disappear on me like Karin did, Ichigo. I don't think I could handle it."

He had bent down on one knee and wrapped his arms around her.

"I won't disappear, Yuzu. I promise."

People always make promises they can't keep. No one could promise not to disappear, people die every day. And often it takes far less for them to just leave you behind, a postcard or two a year, a phone call for the New Year if you were truly lucky. She hugged back until she was under control again. She didn't want to think about it anymore. Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, she deliberately shut off her fears and her sorrow. She pulled herself up, wiped away the moisture from her eyes, and smiled.


	15. Chapter 15

"Tell me again . . . just why getting . . . my ass kicked . . . is a good idea?"

He had thought the hours of meditation were bad, but the physical part of his 'training' was making him long for his yoga mat and incense. None of it seemed to be helping. He wasn't remembering any of the things they told him about his alternate past, and he sure hadn't turned into any kind of sword wielding superhero. But in a moment of naiveté, he had agreed to do whatever the clog wearing psycho said. In return, the man promised Ichigo he would get his memories sorted out.

Unnerving gold eyes swept over his sweaty, panting form with a hint of laughter and a whole lot of disdain. She tossed a water bottle at him, and he was pleasantly surprised when his tired, bruised arm managed to catch it without him telling it to. He guzzled water while she continued to look him over like he was a week old pile of roadkill.

"Such a whiny, soft thing you've become. Kisuke! Are you sure he's not just some look-alike? The Kurosaki I knew wouldn't be on the ground after ten minutes of warm-up."

"Warm-up! I think you broke my ribs, you lunatic!"

"See what I mean?"

Her sharp toed boot casually kicked at the very ribs she had at least badly bruised not two minutes ago. His pained cursing as he rolled onto his side in the dirt only earned a wide grin from one tormentor, and a disappointed sigh form the other.

"Now, now, Yoruichi. He's an old man, with a warm house and a safe job where he sits behind a nice big desk. Take it easy, he's fragile."

"I'm not . . . fragile, dammit! I keep in shape. I run, I work out. She's just freakishly strong and violent."

"The first time I trained you, you were barely old enough to shave. But you never yowled like a scared kitten."

He scrambled to back up as she leaned down, that wicked smile and those gleaming eyes like some demon crawling out of a nightmare to torture and devour him. It didn't help when she poked at his chest a few times as if testing whether he had enough meat to be worth her effort.

"You, if it is you, used to be able to keep up with me." She poked him again. "You could bring down centuries old swordsmen without breaking a sweat." A light smack to his cheek startled him and he started to get angry at this pointless treatment. "You got knocked down, bloodied, even killed and you got back up twice as strong."

He managed to at least get his feet under him, even if standing was a bit beyond his ability. He snarled at her, all the unfair expectations, the half-truths, the belittling and abusive words were drowning out the passive hope that had driven him this far. He had only wanted to learn the truth, to find Toshiro, to help, and this was what he got for his efforts? He grabbed her wrist as she went to smack him again, jerking with the momentum of her movement. She stumbled, one foot moving perhaps two inches to regain her balance. Terribly ineffective, but it was the first time he had ever made her move at all, and a rush of satisfaction mixed with his seething anger.

If he had expected his moment of defiance to earn him a respite, he would have been sadly disappointed. In a flash, the evil woman had pulled him up to his feet and shoved him back. He was so furious now that his body acted without interference from his mind, an instant where he may have fallen quickly recovering into a slightly crouched, aggressive stance. His enemy smirked, and threw a series of light, fast punches at him. Bursts of pain in his arms as he blocked her blows were at first ignored, shoved aside by the desire to retaliate, but she was too fast. Then his hand intercepted hers, and time slowed to let him hear the bones break, let him feel each crack as one, two, three metacarpals strained and snapped.

He heard his scream of agony as he spun, collapsing to his knees and cradling his hand. His hand! God, what was he doing?

"I thought I told you to take it easy."

"I was taking it easy. Even when he was a teenager he would have been able to block that. Simple karate, nothing special."

He heard this through a haze of panic and pain. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but just stared at his shattered hand in disbelief. For some reason, his voice was perfectly calm. Shock, probably.

"I'm a surgeon. I haven't fought since high school. My _hand_ . . . I'm a _surgeon_ , damn you both."

"Oh? Well, if that's what you are, you should get back to your clinic and your big desk."

He blinked up at Urahara, amazed at the nonchalant attitude. Then the words started to sink in. All those years and hours training his brain and his hands. But if he followed through, he wouldn't be a surgeon anymore. He wouldn't be the one who healed the damage caused by violence, he would be the one who protected, who prevented that trauma from happening at all. He took a deep breath, reaffirming his decision in his mind. The crazy shopkeeper must have seen his resolve, and smiled almost kindly, which was twice as creepy as his normal, conniving grin.

"Tessai!"

The big, nearly as creepy man popped up from behind a boulder as if he'd been hiding there just waiting for his cue. Ichigo had gotten over the disbelief when he first saw this bizarre underground cavern, but the way these people just appeared out of nowhere still made him jumpy. But he held still, refusing to show any more weakness, as the giant knelt and took his already swelling hand.

"What the . . .?"

His eyes were wide, staring at the nimbus of green light surrounding their hands. He had seen this before, when Ukitake touched Toshiro the first time. Only the growing list of unbelievable events he had witnessed kept him from thinking he had gone off the deep end as he felt the pain in his hand and his ribs sharpen and then start to fade away. The swelling and early signs of bruising receded, and his mind spun with the implications as he watched.

"Can . . . can you all do this?"

"You all who? The three of us can, yes, though Tessai is by far the most skilled. Most experienced Shinigami can handle basic healing, and many make it their specialty."

"Could I do that?"

"Kido was never your strong suit. It requires study, delicacy and fine control of power. You were more of the 'bull in a china shop' type, great at bashing things to bits, not so great at piecing bits back together. Rather ironic that you became a doctor, wouldn't you say? But you had learned a few basics, including very rudimentary healing."

He felt a little sick. The faces of patients lost to simple infections, or those he had failed to save on the table flashed through his mind. The long, dangerous convalescence, the pain and suffering, all of it pared down to mere minutes. Urahara seemed once again to read his thoughts.

"Before you start planning to revolutionize modern medicine, remember that there is intended to be a clear line between the living and the dead. Not to mention you would be burned at the stake if you were capable of doing what you are thinking of doing. Shinigami defend the living from supernatural threats. Outside of that duty, the fate of humans must be left to nature."

He didn't agree. For that matter, if he was what they said he was then his very existence broke that line between living and dead. But since he had no idea how to do whatever Tessai was doing, it was a moot point and not worth starting a debate over. So, he simply nodded and let himself continue to stare, enthralled, as he flexed his fingers with no pain at all.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The precautions were necessary, layers of protection around every camp, no matter how temporary. It had never annoyed her more than now. Once again, her captain had defied the odds, completing an impossible mission with greater success and far less loss than anyone else could have. Now they stood waiting like errant dogs locked out for the night, heads hanging, victorious but drained, utterly drained.

Toshiro leaned on his sword, wounds healed but reiatsu running low. She was struggling, too, having supported him and covered his back while he fought, just as she should. If it weren't for the eight soldiers that were sent to District 48, they would have won the battle and then likely lost their lives. But the eight came just in time, fresh swords and full powers to protect their captain and his prize, to lead them to where they needed to be.

She knelt down to the ground, her every muscle exhausted, and wondered how her captain remained on his feet. Always too strong for his own good, that one, ever since he was a little scrap of a street rat that wouldn't back down before grown men, or even before a pushy Shinigami woman. He had achieved the impossible, becoming a captain at an age when he should have been enjoying the brief spring of youth, careless and free. He had pushed himself to new levels of power to combat the rising darkness, recreating himself while crippled by a broken heart. She supposed she had no reason to be amazed at the simple feat of remaining standing.

"Matsumoto, are you alright?"

"Eh, taicho? Worry about yourself a little. You look . . . what's the expression? Like you've been ridden hard and put away wet."

The fact that he gave an amused snort rather than a glare and sharp retort told her just how tired her captain was. He turned to check on their prisoner while she rested, relying on those that had not fought to their last breath to keep watch. Her eyes were starting to drift shut, fatigue dragging her down, when the whistle of the sentry broke the silence. With a groan, she stood and looked toward her captain before moving toward the alarm.

Proper passwords exchanged, she approached the 2nd Division soldier waiting patiently under guard.

"Hiroki, is that you?"

"Rangiku! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? But what are you doing here, and with your captain? Two captains are never supposed to be in one camp."

"Special circumstances, Hiroki. We find ourselves in need of a master interrogator. And I think your captain will bend the rules when you tell her what we've brought for her to play with."

With a triumphant smirk, she gestured toward her captain, and the Espada bound and unconscious at his feet.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Botswana! As in Africa?"

"Well, yeah, how many Botswanas are out there?"

"But what is in Botswana?"

"Quite a lot as it turns out. We did a safari, saw just about everything you could ever want to see, even elephants. And they have these really cool trees, they're huge and fat and tall, like a whole family could live inside one. I mean, nobody does, I'm just saying. But we'll be stuck in town the rest of the trip."

"What I meant was why is your boss dragging you off to Africa in the first place?"

"Something about mining and supply lines. I'm just his social secretary, Yuzu, I try not to know too much about the business. Anyway, I didn't call to yap about me. How are things there? You or Ichigo going to finally make me an aunt anytime soon?"

"About that, Karin . . . "

"Oh my God! You're pregnant!"

"No! No, I'm not pregnant. Jinta and I were talking about it, yeah, but . . . that's not important. Karin, I have something to tell you, don't interrupt. It's Ichigo. This is going to be hard to believe. He and Orihime have split up. They're getting a divorce, Karin."

"What? Are you serious? When did this happen? Poor Orihime! Why? Does Dad know? Geez, I have to call Ichigo. Is he there?"

She sighed. Typical, her sister calls once or twice a year, then acts offended that she's not kept up to date on family gossip.

"Yes, I'm serious. Yes, Dad knows. No, Ichigo isn't here. And good luck getting in touch with him. He took time off and I think he's in Karakura a lot, but he hardly ever turns his phone on."

"Time off! Ichigo never takes time off. What's he doing in Karakura? Ran home to Dad?"

"No. Karin, it's a long story and really, really confusing. It's like he and Orihime just stopped, well, everything. Stopped spending time together, stopped talking, just everything for no real reason. Then Ichi-nii fell in love with a patient . . . a man, Karin. And the guy lives in Karakura."

Five seconds of silence was a lot for Karin. But then, it was a lot to take in. If circumstances were different, she would be congratulating herself on making her pushy, confident sister speechless for once.

"Okay. Whew. Okay. So, you're telling me Ichigo is in love with a man. A guy he met recently, a patient. You've met him?"

"Uh-huh. He's actually really amazing, and Ichigo was just so happy when he was around, Karin, happier than I've ever seen. I don't think he's from Karakura. I'd never heard of him growing up or anything, and he's rather unusual looking so people would talk about him. His name's Hitsugaya Toshiro. Ever heard of him?"

Ten seconds of silence from Karin was completely unheard of.

"Karin?"

"Ah, sorry, Yuzu. You said this Hitsugaya lives in Karakura? You sure?"

"Why does everyone ask me that? That's the address his uncle gave when he came to pick him up at the clinic."

"Who's his uncle?"

"Urahara Kisuke. Does that one sound familiar?"

This time there was no long silence. In fact, Karin answered almost before she finished speaking.

"Nope. Never herd of either one of them. Say, Yuzu, other than getting a sudden divorce, falling in love with a strange man, and running away from the business he built and lives for, is Ichigo acting weird?"

One disbelieving snort led to another, then Yuzu was laughing so hard that she dropped the phone. Five minutes or so later she wiped away the tears and caught her breath. She picked up the phone, for just one moment feeling guiltily happy. Moments of total absurdity were Karin's specialty, it felt so normal in it's own special way. But when she picked up the phone to tease her sister, there was no one there . . . again.


	16. Chapter 16

"Who was he?"

"Takagi Jin, 4th seat Division 3." Soifon's voice was expressionless as she joined him at the makeshift table.

"4th seat, no less. No wonder he made Quinto Espada."

He lived in dread of ever finding one of his own in the enemy ranks. Aizen gave all captured soldiers a choice, and many chose to live an serve him. Fewer willingly joined the enemy without being captured and forced, almost all those were from lower ranks. As for Espada, the new upper echelon of Aizen's army was made up of Shinigami who underwent Hollowfication. According to Grimmjow, their informant, only the ones who did so willingly ever made the cut as Espada, and the higher the Shinigami rank, the higher they were likely to rank as Arrancar. Or Visored, he supposed was the correct term. It was difficult to think of them in the same breath as fine soldiers like Muguruma and Hirako, not to mention _him_.

Pouring a cup of tea for Soifon, he noted that she looked almost as tired as he felt. The 2nd and the onmitsukido were constantly on the move, gathering and delivering intel in three worlds while maintaining several active squads of direct fighters. He did not know and did not want to know just how many shadows Soifon was trying to direct at once. The 10th was now the second smallest division due to heavy losses 5 years ago, and further divided into a handful of strike squads. His was a relatively simple job, and it wore him to the bone.

"I will not pry, I know you will have done your duty and will report as required. Is there anything I should know directly?"

"You are one of the few I don't mind working with, Hitsugaya. Most captains would have kept that Espada, at least until they'd done their own interrogation and likely ruined mine. I'm not done with him, but I'll give you a copy of the full report when I'm finished."

If anyone could see his surprise it would be Soifon. He was glad that he had restrained himself from questioning the prisoner, though it had more to do with his lack of a secure location and sufficient power to keep his squad safe than anything else. If it earned him a little respect or gratitude from the captain of spies and assassins, he would take it. And he'd take that report. Who knows how much Kyoraku would redact before Toshiro saw any official report?

"Thank you. I lost two men to bring that thing in. I wanted to be sure we got the most out of it."

"Good man. We'll be breaking camp tomorrow sunset. I'll clean him out by noon. Let your squad rest easy until then, we've plenty of food and double security until we're finished with him. You take one of the cots. No arguing or I'll knock you out and you'll take the cot anyway."

He raised a brow but did not, in fact, argue as she stood and left him to his thoughts. The camp was well equipped, utter luxury compared to what his men were used to. And the injured all had safe and comfortable places to recover. It was not quite midnight. Twelve hours rest would do as a first reward for the squad, and sleeping off the ground for the first time in weeks would be his.

An hour later he had finished his rounds, checked on his lieutenant, already snoring in a sleeping roll under a canvas lean-to, and found the luxury of an empty cot in a small, private tent close enough to hear the murmur of the stream. He had intended to relax and make plans for rotating this squad off duty and picking up with another, fresher squad. But the night chill had him curling into the warmth of the heavy blanket and drifting off, almost peaceful.

 _There were very good reasons why Toshiro did not like to be touched, hated it in fact. He regretted the flash of hurt that would be quickly suppressed in Ichigo's eyes every time he flinched, pushed, or pulled away. He knew Ichigo wasn't trying to hurt or frighten him, it was just his nature to be affectionate, to hug, hold hands, caress a cheek, wrap an arm around shoulders or waist._

" _Oh, sorry. Just come here, I want to show you something."_

 _Toshiro followed, embarrassed by the way he had winced and pulled back when the large hand had encased his own and tugged him forward. Increasingly he felt the need to explain, but parts of his past were just too painful. And he was honest enough to know that he just didn't trust Ichigo enough to tell him. What if he never could? They had a few sporadic meetings for a couple of months, and then Toshiro admitted that they were dating, and they spent time together more often. That was three months ago. How long would Ichigo or anyone put up with being constantly shunned?_

 _The tall, exuberant young man in front of him broke through the milling crowd and turned to gesture him forward. He slid in between strangers, making himself compact to avoid contact while maintaining the careful mask of dignity and confidence of a captain. He reached the rope barrier and looked into the open area with spectators all around, and his eyes widened in pleased surprise. Within the free space were blocks of ice, some tall, others squat, long, narrow, or small. Each block was transforming slowly or quickly under the hands and tools of men and women working with concentrated grace to reveal a leaping stag, a cluster of lilies, a fairy-tale castle, a passionate couple locked in a frozen waltz._

" _Ichigo . . . how beautiful."_

 _He could feel the smile on his face, something that he rarely allowed but couldn't, this time, conceal. Ichigo's big hands came to rest on either side of his body, holding the rope while keeping a couple of inches away from him, creating a safe little space in the crowd for Toshiro to watch the sculptors._

" _I heard you do a bit of ice sculpting yourself. They do this every year. Maybe next year you could compete, and I'll be your cheering section."_

 _He chuckled, and felt more than saw the surprise this caused._

" _I cheat, though. I create the sculpture from nothing, pouring ice into the form I wish. This is different, to be able to see the life hidden within and reveal it to all. This is an art."_

 _He hummed a little, a habit when he was happy and something he had not done in another's presence for quite a while. Ichigo was always doing things like this, finding his little secrets and ways to make their time together special. It was a wonder, to find someone who tried so hard, gave so much, and expected so little._ _He could feel the overwhelming happiness radiating from his boyfriend, caused by nothing more than knowing that he had pleased Toshiro. So carefully and slowly, Ichigo was chipping away at the ice he had spent years building up around him. He had always felt threatened, like he was being attacked. But that wasn't what was happening. For the first time, he realized that Ichigo was only trying to find him, to see him clearly and reach through the ice not to force him out, but to simply be with the real Toshiro._

 _A small step back, a shift of his weight, and he was leaning lightly against the glowing warmth that was Ichigo. Feeling the sudden tension in the larger frame at his back, he hummed again, not sure how to else to express his comfort. Slowly, cautiously the hands let go of the rope and arms drew in to hold him gently. The moment of fear and panic was brief, the warmth of the embrace was lasting._

He woke quietly, his arms wrapped around his chest. Staring into the darkness, he made the choice to allow 10 seconds of mourning. The tears were his choice. The clutching of his hands at the blanket was his choice. It was his choice to whisper the name engraved on his heart once, twice, and then the time was up. The price paid, he let go of grief and closed his eyes, stilling his mind, forcing himself back into sleep.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Maybe the psychopaths were right, he was too soft. Lounging back in his soft, perfectly adjusted executive office chair, sipping on a large, perfectly crafted cappuccino with just a hint of dark chocolate the way only Itaru could make it, he was tempted to just decide the past was all a hallucination. No strange and wonderful mystery patient, no plunge into a twisted Wonderland populated with monsters and Death Gods.

"You'd better get out of that chair before Dr. Fujita gets back."

"Ah, Yuzu, don't destroy the illusion."

"Do you regret taking time off?"

He sighed, pushing himself out of indulgence and out of his favorite chair. The other side of the desk is where he belonged. After two hours of going over business matters, following up on cases, and helping Fujita settle in at her clinic, he took one minute to relax and reminisce, and of course he got caught.

"No, I don't regret it, except when I'm actually here. Is it wrong that I wish things didn't just run along seamlessly without me?"

"Perfectly normal, especially for an egomaniac surgeon with a God-complex."

He laughed as they left 'his' office and walked to hers, though the statement was quite true. It was gratifying that the clinic was set up and managed so well that it could survive without him. But it was bittersweet. If things proceeded the way he planned, the Kurosaki name might as well come down now. The clinic would belong to Yuzu.

"It is going well, though, isn't it?"

"You're missed. Dr. Fujita is capable. More than capable, she's very good, and the staff likes her. But there's only one Ichigo. Anyway, between me, Uryu, and Kobayashi, everything is going well. Speaking of which, Uryu is expecting you."

"See," he fell into the very plain, non-luxurious chair in her office. At least he still had Itaru's coffee. "Regret's gone."

"Relax, it's just business."

"I'd rather it was personal. You know what he can be like when it comes to profit and loss statements."

"Since you aren't going to ask, it seems like they are doing okay, too. Orihime won't talk to me except for pointless small talk. It's obvious she's still dealing with a lot of confusion and anger . . ."

"How is that 'doing okay'?"

"The point is, every time I see her with Uryu, she looks happy. And he's completely different. It's like he grew a personality."

"Laughing in public? Smiling at patients? Adjusting his glasses like every three seconds?"

"Yeah, and I swear I heard him whistling the other day."

He chuckled. There was good in this situation, much more than expected. Uryu had been in love with Orihime for as long as he could remember. If Urahara was right, that all of their lives had been derailed a long, long time ago, perhaps they had been meant to be together from the beginning. She certainly deserved someone that loved everything about her, and Uryu worshiped her. Always had.

"You think I can put him off while I drink three more cups? All I've had lately is tea, tea, and more tea."

"Ichigo, how is your . . . whatever you're up to going? Dad says you aren't staying at home and he hardly ever sees you."

"Meaning you tried to check up on me. You know I won't talk about it."

"I'm not asking for details. We all just want to know you're okay. Karin called, did I tell you? I couldn't even tell her where you were."

"If she cares, she has my number."

He hid a wince. His big mouth and short temper! Yuzu had suddenly found something very interesting about the notepad on her desk, flipping a page and studying it intently.

"Sorry, Yuz. Did she say how she's doing? I think I haven't talked to her in nearly a year now."

"You know, she's in Africa. Africa, Ichigo, can you imagine?"

He listened to Yuzu's excitement as she described Africa and knew Karin had probably told her two sentences. Then Yuzu would have spent days learning all about the places their sister had been, in some kind of effort to feel more connected. He didn't know what his long term future would be, or even if he would have one. But he hoped he would find a way to keep his word, to not disappear.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"If you want to discuss the hows and whys, you should have asked for Kurotsuchi. Just tell me three things. Does he remember? Does he have power? Will he fight?"

"No to all of the above. But I am working on it."

"Then why are we here, Kisuke?"

"Even I cannot create power from nothing. But I can restore power that was stolen, if I can get my hands on it."

He handed over a folder, and watched Shunsui study the one paper inside. The past dozen years had not been kind to the centuries old captain. The constant struggle with no end in sight, the goal now no longer to win the war but to lose it as slowly and painfully as possible, weighed heavily on his shoulders. And the consequences of his first actions as sotaicho weighed heavier. He was counting on the man's desperation. They all were, most just did not realize it.

"That, my friend, is one of many sketches created by our dear tensai when he was recovering his memories. I have been able to verify nearly all the drawings, only those with no witnesses are in question. Assuming then, that this is a true memory, it would be simplicity itself to restore Kurosaki."

"Yes, quite simple." Shunsui was very good at dry sarcasm. "I assume you have some plan to acquire them. I'm sure if you asked Aizen nicely he'd give them back without a fuss."

"Well, seeing as how I do not have a set of captains, Visoreds and their armies at my disposal, I was hoping you might help with the details."

"Of course, you were. Time's up," Shunsui handed the folder back with no indication of what he would decide. "I'll be in touch."

"Already? I was hoping to discuss . . .."

"You know the rules. Stay here if you want. I'm sure the meeting of two such as we will go unnoticed." And the sotaicho was gone.

He would have to get accustomed to running and evading instead of fortifying one location. Soul Society was hanging by a very thin thread. It was only a short matter of time before Aizen's attention shifted fully onto the Living World, and whatever deal Kurosaki had made for the safety of his little corner of the world would mean nothing. He looked at the sketch again, Kurosaki's collapsed form on a reflective floor, Aizen with one of the fallen Shinigami's blades in hand, leaning down to reach for the second.

 _If_ the swords still existed, then Zangetsu still existed. _If_ Zangetsu still existed, then the power of one of the strongest Shinigami in history was still intact. It was a dim hope, but in this ever-increasing darkness, it shone like a thousand suns.


	17. Chapter 17

"This has to be the most reckless thing you've done in centuries."

"Well, you always tell me to take more risks. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?"

He chuckled and refilled their teacups. Oh, what he wouldn't give for sake instead. But he was a man with great responsibilities now, he had to set a good example. The lack of alcohol on his table had nothing at all to do with the fact that sake was a precious commodity now, difficult for anyone to get their hands on. What little pain-numbing luxuries they could scrounge up were reserved for the 4th Division. Even tea was starting to get scarce. At least Juushiro would feel his pain then, when his friend could no longer have his favorite drink, either.

"Seems Kurotsuchi thinks it will work, but he won't guarantee it. Says Aizen could have messed with the zanpakuto, tried to seal it, even steal it or corrupt it. Worst case scenario, we hand the swords back and Kurosaki gets killed, loses control of that Hollow of his, any number of things. It's a huge risk, even if Kurotsuchi checks the swords out first."

"It has to be worth it, Shunsui. What do we have, 10 years tops? No new Shinigami being trained, casualties light but still, one more disaster like 5 years ago and we'll never recover."

He winced. It was nothing he did not know, but few would say it out loud.

"I know it. There really isn't any choice."

"There is still a lot of resentment. Even if we get Kurosaki back, some will refuse to work with him."

"They will try. But really, no one has to work with him."

"You mean you'd just set him lose against Aizen and hope for a better outcome this time."

"That's how one uses a man like Kurosaki. Point him at the target and take cover."

Pursed lips were the only response, they had never seen eye-to-eye on this.

"Did you ever stop to think that is exactly where we went wrong? Setting aside youth and inexperience, putting the bulk of the battle on one fighter is unwise, unfair, and a fantastic way to lose an ally and a war."

"That's enough."

His voice was quiet, but Juushiro knew him well and would drop the subject. They had debated this many times, late into many nights. He didn't want to lose the only one who still spoke to him freely, at least when they were alone. But it was his decision, and he would not risk sending soldiers into battle beside Kurosaki. Even if the human wasn't a hothead with a death wish, Shunsui was not at all convinced that Kurosaki had not knowing betrayed them all once already.

"There is another problem, and I'm going to have to ask you to handle it."

"Toshiro. We cannot tell him yet. Not until there is a better chance of success, it would kill him."

"Even if we don't tell him what we're planning for Kurosaki, Hitsugaya is the only one that Arrancar will meet with."

"I'll take care of that, if you let me handle it as I see fit."

"Putting conditions on following my orders?"

"You did say I need to take more risks."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He had known this day would come, had been hoping for it for what was starting to feel like an eternity. It wasn't that difficult, keeping himself informed of the whereabouts of Kurosaki's zanpakuto without giving himself away. He had even tried to steal them a few times, with only a little pain and suffering as a consequence. Everyone knew his obsession with Kurosaki, his drive to kill the smug human that had once defeated him. He had practically begged Aizen for those swords, and wouldn't that have made everything easy. His reputation helped alleviate suspicion, unpredictable, irreverent, egotistical, and above all murderously violent. It didn't matter that he was no longer an Espada. Not one of them would tangle with him or be caught alone with him. They wouldn't even duel him anymore, once it became clear that he didn't mind the severe punishment for accidentally killing his so-called superiors.

Grimmjow didn't follow rules unless they came directly from Aizen, and then only to the letter. There were so many loopholes and gray areas, and he found them all or simply bent the rules as far as he could before Aizen took the time to discipline him. He survived because of this defiance. His presence kept the others in line, gave them something to fear and hate that was easier to grasp and understand than the inhuman, godlike being they all kowtowed to.

It suited him well, creating havoc, shedding the blood of allies as easily as enemies. If he had been forced to play Espada, and he had no doubt Aizen could force him to comply if he chose, it would have driven him mad. He hated these Shinigami turned Arrancar, Visored, whatever they were. He had hated his fellow Espada, too, but not this much. Every one of them was a traitor to their own kind, not to be trusted, to be put down without mercy if and whenever he had the opportunity.

Aizen knew that he killed Espada and the less powerful Visored intentionally, with the thin excuse of duels, training, and accidental friendly fire in combat. It wasn't beneath the 'god' to notice. In fact, the psychopath found it amusing, and considered it an interesting way to weed out the weak. So, even though Grimmjow was technically not an Espada, not given respect or rank, there was not one soldier in the entire army that did not do whatever he said as quickly as possible. Outside of the law, he thrived.

The risks he took to leak information to the enemy would eventually lead to his death. He didn't consider himself a traitor, not like the current Espada. He wasn't turning his coat. He was a Hollow, had always been. Dragged into the service of rogue Shinigami, he had made the best of his time under Aizen and the two others, Ichimaru and Tosen, long since sacrificed to Aizen's ambition. But he had never even pretended loyalty. And now he was the only one, the last of the original Espada. Unless you included Nelliel, he supposed, who he assumed was still alive based on the occasional information he received in return from the Shinigami.

Carefully, he left his reply. A touch of reiatsu, nothing more than would normally be left behind by contact with the stone wall that would serve as a message board one time only. Yes, he would gather as much information on the swords as he could. And yes, he would send word to arrange a meeting to deliver the information. When they asked, he would help retrieve the swords.

That may be his final act as a spy. He would either die in the attempt, or have to flee. And finally, the slate would be wiped clean between him and Kurosaki, his debt paid.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

A loud snap accompanied a rush of relief so perfect it made him a bit dizzy. He was tense all the time now, sleeping, eating, fighting, no matter what he was doing it seemed every muscle strained either in effort or in nervousness. That pop let him stretch his neck in a way he hadn't been able to for days, and he relaxed back into the hot spring, twisting and bending his head side to side with a sigh.

Cracking one eye open at the sound of a splash, he grunted a welcome to the gorgeous and completely nude woman who had just slipped into the water a few feet away.

"So not fun anymore."

He grunted again and let his eyelid slide back down. Yoruichi had been almost giddy the first time she had done this, a wicked grin on her face and eyes lit with anticipation, expecting him to have a stroke or at the very least avert his eyes and blush. He had done neither. When she had complained, saying that it used to embarrass him to death, he had calmly informed her that

A – He was a doctor and more than capable of viewing a naked woman dispassionately,

B – While she was stunning, his wife was in a different class altogether, and oh, how that had pissed her off,

And C – She was too dark, too curvy, and her anatomy was not at all what he pictured in his dreams anymore.

Fortunately, the last statement had her rolling (naked, mind you) in the dirt for ten minutes. Since then, she still paraded around in her birthday suit when she felt like it, but no longer tried to get a reaction out of him. Now, going 'poof' and turning into a cat, that got a reaction. If it weren't for all the other unbelievable things these people could do, he would have assumed he was hallucinating.

"Kisuke wants to see you."

"He can wait five more minutes."

He should probably have some tests done next time he visited the clinic. What was the use of all those big, expensive toys if he didn't use them to make sure he wasn't suffering from the world's most creative brain tumor? It would certainly explain women changing into cats.

"Yoruichi, can I ask you something?"

"Eh? Course you can."

"It's been two months already. Now, I'm not complaining, I know how people give up even when you tell them it's a long road. But do you see any progress at all?"

"Don't be stupid, of course I don't."

He blinked, and then went straight to being pissed off. That was another thing, along with the constant stress, his temper had gone back to high school levels, Zen to psycho in 2 seconds flat. And his 'trainers' seemed pleased by that.

"Then what's the point? I'm human, you know, I'm going to die of old age before we get anywhere."

"The point, boy, is not to train you to become a Shinigami again from ground zero. It's to get your body and mind ready."

"Huh? For what?"

"For Kisuke to dump all of your power back in that empty head of yours all at once."

She grinned. He stared blankly. Then he quickly stood, forgetting that he, too, had shed all his clothes, thinking he had the place to himself for once. He didn't even notice her eyes wandering as he stalked out of the water and started yanking on clothing.

"That good-for-nothing lying bastard. I'm gonna kill him. No, I'm going to beat him within an inch of his sorry life again and again for two months and tell him it's for his own good. Then I'll kill him."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

A sudden chill made Kisuke shiver and sneeze. He looked around, for a moment feeling like someone was walking on his grave. He shrugged it off and started the big teapot to boil. Considering the frequently volatile nature of both his trainee and his expected guest, he opted for sturdy coffee mugs instead of more fragile teacups. Placing the mugs and a couple of mismatched plates he wouldn't mind losing, he noted the nice tray of finger sandwiches and raw veggies Tessai had prepared and left on a plastic wrapped serving tray. It was a nice tray, perhaps he should transfer the snacks to something less breakable.

The approach of Kurosaki caught his attention. The human's reiatsu was seething, and he quickly moved away from the table to the open space between dining and living areas. What had set him off so early? He ran through the possibilities . . . oh dear, where was that stupid cat?

"Urahara!"

He snapped his fan open in front of his face to hide his grin. Yoruichi had stolen the fun, how typical. Instinct had him backing up a step when the livid human rounded the corner and spotted him. The man was so weak compared to Kisuke, so weak compared to the Kurosaki of years ago. But the memory of what his man had been was not easily forgotten, and he forgave himself for backing another step as the angry strawberry bore down on him.

"My, my! What has you so worked up this morning, my friend?"

"Drop the act, _friend_. What's this about returning all of my power at once? Explain!"

"I actually was planning to explain that today, right about now, in fact. But a certain golden demoness has apparently decided this way was more entertaining than sitting down over a nice cup of tea. So, care for a cup of tea, Kurosaki?"

The teenager he had taught long ago would have attacked him, or at least bruised him a bit while yelling at the top of his lungs for a half hour. The grown man in front of him literally bit the air to stop the angry words before they left his mouth. The large hands, once again sporting calluses and scars, were clenched into fists, his stance aggressive, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

His fan fluttered as he grinned again, pleased with both the rage and the control. What a force this human would be! That legendary power, but now with some self-control. And maybe none of his dining ware would be destroyed today.

The brown eyes were open again, full of anger and distrust. That was unfortunate, but couldn't really be helped. Kurosaki had no idea just how many secrets were being kept from him. The human had accepted this in the beginning, when he had first come to Kisuke for help. But saying you are okay with everyone around you concealing very personal truths, and living with that deception day in and day out were two very different things. Kurosaki was close to a breaking point.

"I don't want tea, you bastard. I want to know exactly what you intend to do."

He slid around the furious human, thankful for the shrill whistle of the teapot. Like a ringing phone, a teapot always seemed to take priority over everything else, and Kurosaki had no choice as his manners kicked in, making him wait in relative patience for the routine of tea brewing to be taken care of. He had to keep hiding his amusement, knowing it would set the human off again. He called out from the kitchen.

"Today may be a bit difficult for you, Kurosaki. Please do sit and have some tea."

There was no response, but when he returned the human was sitting sullenly at the table, eyeing the food and place settings.

"We are expecting company from Soul Society today, any minute now, in fact. It's rare for a Shinigami to come here anymore, but these are special circumstances."

Kurosaki just glared at him, lips in a thin line over clenched teeth. Oh well, he was used to carrying the weight of the conservation.

"There is a way to fully restore your power, at least I am ninety percent sure of it. It can't be done without Soul Society's support, and it will be extremely dangerous for all involved. Thus, it will take some time to plan and negotiate."

One long finger tapped firmly, repeatedly on the table.

"And will this also restore my memory?"

"That I cannot say. I believe so, as it has been done before, in your clinic."

"Toshiro."

"Exactly. To do this, we must acquire the physical manifestations of your zanpakuto, that is to say, your swords. Only recently have we learned that they may still exist, and we now have some hope of finding them."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Since the day after you showed up on my doorstep. Now, now, I warned you that I would be lying to you from day one. Stabbing me with a butter knife will only provide a moment's satisfaction, and will make a bad impression on our guest. Speaking of which, I do believe she has arrived. Please, try to remain calm. This will be a bit of a shock."

Kurosaki raised a brow, as if to point out that every other moment had been a shocking event of one kind or another. The brown eyes turned to the small figure in a black shihakusho stepping into the room, her own eyes happy, excited, nervous as she offered a trembling smile.


	18. Chapter 18

Timid was not a word she would use to describe herself. In fact, she was the very opposite, so bold and in-your-face that her captain had once sat her down like a schoolgirl and lectured her about the meaning and uses of 'tact.' Yet she found herself dragging her feet on her way down the hall, excited to see Ichigo again but more nervous than she could ever remember being. She tried to smile as she stepped into the open doorway, but she knew it shook a bit. Why was this so hard?

When she saw him, that timorous feeling increased, but so did her urge to run forward and throw her arms around his neck. So, she just stood there, hands grabbing fistfuls of her shihakusho to hide the tremor she feared might show. Trepidation grew as he looked at her. He had been angry about something, but that quickly was lost in shock, confusion, happiness, then grief as what he was seeing sunk in.

"Karin?"

He looked so old, though she knew he was only 32 and probably looked good for his age. Still, her mental picture of him was of a nearly carefree 22-year-old, when he had cheerfully hugged her and waved goodbye as the taxi took her away for a new and exciting life. She had even made excuses to not attend his wedding, or Yuzu's, and the clock had stopped on her image of her family.

"Hi, Ichi-nii."

The loud clattering made her jump as he lurched to his feet, jostling the table. She half ran, half fell the three steps it took before they collided, the strength of his hug pulling her onto her toes as she buried her face in his chest. She had promised herself a dozen times that she wouldn't, but she sobbed and cried like the little girl she had been the last time her big brother had seen her, 18 but feeling so much younger as she left home for the first and last time.

How many times since that day had she dreamed of this, of being back in the safety of her family? Safety. She'd almost forgotten what that even felt like. It felt like a hand rubbing her back. It sounded like a familiar voice murmuring her name, telling her everything was going to be okay, even if everyone knew it wasn't.

It took her a few minutes to pull herself together, to stop crying, and another to catch her breath enough to feel like she could push away and stand on her own without falling apart again. Even so, she almost lost her composure a second time when she saw that he had been weeping, too.

"Karin, how . . .? What happened?"

She took a deep breath. This, she had rehearsed many times.

"Well, you remember I'd been gone a few months and you guys freaked out because you thought I was on that small plane that went down in South Korea? But I told you on the phone that I had missed the flight. Well . . . I lied."

She had to look down at her feet, his face was just too sad as he stared at her. Then an oddly cheerful voice broke them out of their trance.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to sit and have a relaxing cup of tea."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"It was luck, or fate or something. A soul can appear anywhere in Seireitei or Rukongai. I just happened to land in a remote district, where the Gotei still had some control. They found me. They tried to find anyone with any reiatsu at all to add to the ranks."

He was following so far, much to his amazement. But every time he looked at her it hit him again. Karin was dead. His little sister had been dead for years. Did it matter when he could still see and talk to her, when she was essentially the same?

"So, how is it you remember? I thought everyone forgot everything when they . . .."

"Die, Ichigo. The word is die. And yeah, you're supposed to. But we aren't normal, what with Dad being a Shinigami and all."

"Dad being a what?"

"Uh-oh. You didn't tell him?"

He turned to glare as the fan came up and fluttered. One of these days, he was going to break all the teeth in that smug grin. Then the psycho shopkeeper would really have something to hide with that stupid fan.

"I would have explained that in good time . . ."

"As in when I found out without your help, like now."

". . . but it isn't like your father knows. His memory was affected, like everyone else around you. It is possible he will also begin to question, but there is nothing for you to gain from this knowledge at this time."

He got his temper back under control. There were more important things, like his sister he hadn't seen in 10 years. His little sister, Yuzu's twin. Oh man, how would he ever face Yuzu knowing Karin was dead?

"Yeah, so anyway, Dad's a Shinigami, which is why you managed to become one while you were still human, and why I remember my life and have so much power."

"So much power? You're strong, then."

It wasn't really a question. Karin had always been willful, independent, smart; why wouldn't she be powerful? The pride in her eyes matched what he was feeling, and he was surprised for a moment at how easily he was accepting this. If Karin was dead, and a Shinigami, and strong, then she was right in the middle of this war everyone told him about, a war they were losing.

"Not as strong as you were, I've been told, but not far off. Everyone compares me to you, just like in school, Ichigo's little sister this and Ichigo's little sister that. They made me a lieutenant right away. My captain knew you, says I'm just as bad at following rules. I've never seen him so mad as when he found out I'd been calling home for years, not that you can usually tell when he's mad but still, I thought he might actually yell for the first time in his life."

He started to grin as he listened, Karin and her out of control ramblings. It was nostalgic, bittersweet, and it made him want to go around the table and hug her again. Wait a second. Her captain knew him, and was so controlled he didn't show anger. He could feel the blood draining from his face as his stomach tied itself in knots.

"Karin."

"But the sotaicho kind of laughed it off even while he was lecturing me."

"Karin."

"At least your reputation helps me there; people sorta expect me to be trouble."

"Karin!"

"Huh?"

"Who is your captain?"

"Kuchiki Byakuya. You don't remember him, do you?"

He let out a rush of breath, not sure if it was out of relief or crushing disappointment. She was silent, seeming to think it through and realizing what had upset him a bit too late.

"Guess I should have opened with that, huh? I'm sorry, Ichigo, I didn't think. I don't really know Hitsugaya-taicho. Divisions don't meet often, and, well, he tends to avoid me."

"Nothing to be sorry for. It's my problem, not yours."

"Well, that's a stupid thing to say. Not that I should expect anything better."

What? She had no right to be angry with him.

"And what the hell do you expect?"

"I'm your sister. I expect you not to treat me like a stranger."

"You have got to be kidding me. Ten years, Karin, and this is the longest conversation we've had."

"Oh, sorry, I was kinda busy being dead and fighting a war."

"Two facts among thousands you forgot to mention . . . or flat-out lied about."

"How dare you?"

The soft giggle to his right made him realize that he was leaning over the table, growling at his sister in anger that might be justified, but was completely unnecessary. And she had gone from bubbly smiles to red faced snarling just as quickly. It was like looking in a mirror. He stopped an angry retort as lukewarm tea splashed across his chest, the shopkeeper ducking to avoid the heavy mug that sailed just over his head to shatter on the wall behind him.

He snorted to see the mirth on Urahara's face fall into a resigned sort of irritation as he brushed drops of tea from his cheek. He looked over at his sister, wishing he had been the one to throw something at that smug grin, and started chuckling at the look on her face, so outraged and disgusted and angry. She was his sister, all right. Her glare swung to him and his chortles turned into outright laughter. Blinking in surprise, she started to grin and within seconds they were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The only way to do this was to make sure he was the second one to arrive. So, he arrived early and at a distance, using every trick to mask his presence completely. The meeting place was unremarkable, just another barren ruin in Rukongai, in an area devoid of all but the most desperate of souls. Waiting gave him time to absorb the scene of devastation, time to regret which he really did not need. A thousand years he had watched over this place. The burnt-out shells of homes, the weed choked paths that used to be bustling streets, it was all screaming at him of failure.

Juushiro had become accustomed to shutting out the feelings of guilt and sorrow, along with the painful memories. Fortunately, he did not have to distract himself for long. The former Espada was not cautious enough; it was a wonder he hadn't been killed off already. He observed for a moment as the Arrancar looked around from the shadows, showing at least some sense. They had never met or fought one another directly, but he had seen the man in action, a fierce fighter with very little restraint, driven by instinct as much as skill. It was really no surprise to him that Kurosaki had some strange kind of antagonistic friendship with the Hollow; they were alike in some ways.

A single flash step, a loosening of a bit of reiatsu, and he reevaluated his opinion of Grimmjow's caution. He was too fast for the blow to land, and the Arrancar's fist obliterated a charred wooden wall.

"Wait! I'm here to . . ."

Another quick step, another impact raising a cloud of ash and dust that might draw attention. He channeled power into the prepared kido. He probably should have just used that from the beginning considering the reputation of the Arrancar. As the binding took hold, he knew it wouldn't last long and would cause a secondary problem. Grimmjow was strong, and was already fighting as he fell onto a pile of rubble with a loud growl. His reiatsu surged, a beacon to any soldier on either side who might be looking.

"Calm down, you fool. I'm not here to fight, and you're drawing attention."

"Let me go, Shinigami! I'll kill you!"

He sighed, not bothering to point out the obvious flaw in the Arrancar's argument.

"I'm here to meet with you. Now stop making a fool of yourself and I'll release you."

To his amazement, the Arrancar did become still, even drew back his reiatsu though the piercing blue eyes were still glaring, sharp teeth still snarling.

"My name is Ukitake Juushiro. I strongly suggest we move elsewhere before discussing what we came here to discuss."

"I know who you are, Shinigami, and you have two seconds to let me go."

What a lunatic. Two seconds or else what? The man was immobilized, and it would hold long enough for Juushiro to kill him. Yet still the Arrancar antagonized his captor. He sighed and readied himself to dodge before letting the kido fall. And once again he was surprised as the man slowly and calmly stood, though he could see the tension and rage in the tensed muscles, the clenched jaw.

"Where is Toshiro?"

"We need to move, immediately. Follow me."

"Not until you answer the question, Shinigami."

Interesting. Was this Arrancar worried about Toshiro?

"You know about Toshiro and Ichigo?"

"So that's it. You didn't tell him what you're trying to do. That's low, even for your kind."

"As fascinating as a debate on morality with a Hollow might be, I must be leaving. Follow if you are still willing to help. Otherwise, I hope to never see your face again."

He heard a bark of laughter as he stepped away, setting a fast pace along an erratic path to another desolate locale. He was relieved that the Arrancar followed, though he had been pretty certain that taunting him, pretending that they would not be crippled without his help, was exactly the right thing to do to get him to cooperate.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Irritated. Annoyed. Not strong enough. He was starting to get pissed off. Normally, he could go up to six months without interference, sending regular reports and receiving intel but not orders. That was the entire point of Division 10 and a few squads from other divisions. Specializing in autonomous strikes, they operated independently within predetermined areas. Fewer problems for all, fewer communications that might be intercepted or leaked. Yet here was another order, another change in assigned zones, the third such in as many weeks requiring six messages back and forth to base.

"What could possibly be going through Kyoraku's head?"

This was foolishness, a strain on security at the very least but also a major obstacle. Dropping districts he was familiar with, dropping long term plans, having to start nearly from scratch . . . yes, pissed was the right word. And his temper was not helped by the persistent dreams. He avoided sleep, and what sleep he had was consistently disturbed by the past. Last night had been particularly restless, for some reason stuck on a repeating loop. Their first kiss. Spring, mornings still pleasantly frosted, daffodils almost ready to bloom. He would wake up, banish memories, and fall asleep, falling right back into the cool dawn light and the warmth of his lips.

"Another change, taicho?"

"The last, if I have anything to say about it."

He started writing his reply, slowed down by the need to code everything as he went. He would comply, of course, but he should have let the sotaicho have a piece of his mind the last time. Still, there had to more to it than just whimsy. Kyoraku was not stupid; the man was a tactician and he knew what damage would be done by these frequent changes. Something was going on to cause the lost effectiveness to be worth the price, and for once he had no idea what.

"Matsumoto."

It was a long shot, with so little communication between squads and divisions, but his lieutenant had always had an uncanny ability to pick up on things he missed. People opened up to her, told her secrets. He had often used this to his advantage to gain information.

"Yes, taicho."

"Is there, perhaps, something happening that I am not aware of? A plan underway, a disturbance at base camp, anything unusual?"

"Not that I'm aware of, taicho."

Something in the tone of her voice, a hesitance. He looked up at her, studying her reactions.

"Hmm. This entire situation is odd, don't you think?"

"It seems so, taicho."

"But no rumors of some bigger changes being made?"

"I haven't heard anything like that, taicho."

Mm-hmm. Such short, formal responses, repeating his title, evasive answers, and no teasing at all. He finished his response while she stood waiting, fretting. His reply was shorter than he had intended and much less argumentative now that he knew there was more to these ridiculous orders. He wasn't angry with Rangiku, he knew she must be trapped between her duty to the sotaicho and her duty to him. But Kyoraku was going to owe him quite an explanation.

"Rangiku, if you are helping hide facts from me, I assume you have good reason or are under specific orders."

"Taicho?"

He stood, turning to lock eyes with her. A slight tightening of her facial muscles, an almost disguised flinch.

"I trust that you will not allow such secrecy to compromise the safety of this squad or the division."

The burgeoning sense of dread grew when she looked away quickly, hiding what looked like grief.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, taicho. And I would never do anything to harm you or our team."

He held out the message. Quietly she took it and turned away.

So, they were keeping him distracted. And completely cut off, no chance of encountering another division accidentally or even legitimately as with Division 2. There was only one reason he would be singled out and isolated like this, assuming similar actions were not being taken against other captains. It was still foolishness, just of a different variety. If they wanted to hide their intentions, they should have simply left him alone. Kyoraku may not know that, but Ukitake certainly would. Why then?

His hand went to the ring hanging against his breastbone. His eyes and his suspicions went to where his lieutenant had vanished.


	19. Chapter 19

**Oh, Grimmjow, you sexy beast. Never have I been as tempted to throw 'Trauma' into the M rating . . .**

 **Thanks, _ocdbrownie_ for the feedback! A little longer chapter for you _karupin sama_ , hopefully makes up a bit for the long time between updates.**

* * *

The first time Urahara showed him a Hollow, he was both excited and fascinated. But not frightened, and he thought he should be. The creature was ten feet tall with a thin body and overly muscled arms, both repulsive and comical to look at. There was nothing comical about the bone-chilling screams or the way it attacked with terrible force and lack of restraint. Urahara had toyed with it for a while, to show Ichigo what it was capable of, before dispatching it with a casual blow to the head.

No, he wasn't scared of the thing. If anything, he was enraged and wanted to attack it with his bare fists if he had to. And it was not unfamiliar. He'd seen similar creatures in frequent nightmares for weeks now. He'd dreamed of several, all with some similarities but many differences. The one that stuck in his mind when he woke was a much bigger, bulkier thing, covered in thick fur with a Cheshire Cat grin. He always woke angry beyond reason when he dreamed of Hollows. Except when he dreamed of ones that looked almost human, hazy dreams that left him uncertain how he felt about them.

It was good to see the Hollow in real life. It made him feel slightly less insane, and gave him a tangible goal. He wanted to help in the war, help Toshiro and Karin. The current war was not only against Hollow, but fellow Shinigami. Yet the eternal enemy was more solid now, more believable, and he didn't fight the primal urge to kill that thing and any others he could. Now, he just needed the power to do it.

They had kept up with training, and he could hold his own with fist and sword as long as his trainers held back to 'skilled human' levels. It would be a beautiful day, if the power they told him of returned, when he could kick both their butts as easily as they kicked his. So, motivation was not a problem.

To add to his drive, he had what Karin had told him about the general opinion of him in Soul Society. Something had happened, something no one remembered, not only him. And just about everyone blamed him, hated him, called him a traitor. He remembered the blonde woman holding Toshiro, snapping at him, telling him he'd done enough damage. But she didn't know the truth any more than he did. He remembered the white-haired man, Ukitake, seeming kind at first but even he had accused him of betrayal, of striking some disastrous bargain with the enemy to save his own skin. And Ichigo had told the man that he was a liar.

His instincts had not changed on this. Whatever had happened, his gut told him he had not simply sold out his honor or his responsibilities. He left room for doubt, that something had happened to force him into a terrible choice. If the truth could be found, he wanted to know, wanted everyone to know even if it did prove him a traitor or coward. Better that than face dishonor without any evidence at all.

All of this ran back and forth through his mind as he sprawled on Urahara's couch, and between every thought or two was Toshiro. Hollows were not the only thing he dreamed about. He would give anything to know if the things he dreamed of were real memories or just his imagination and wishes. He knew, from details slowly doled out by Urahara and Yoruichi, from what little Karin could confirm, he knew that they had been days away from being married when the war started. He knew that they had been together for more than a year, and that they had known each other for a long time before that year, since before the first war.

Time measured in wars. He didn't know what to think about that, except that it was a tragedy. And if he had his way, he would recover his power and use it to bring this war to a conclusion. Of course, he would become a respected hero again and win back the heart of his true love in the process. Easy, right?

Urahara walked in while he was laughing at himself.

"Glad to find you in a good mood, Kurosaki-san."

Good mood? Either the Shinigami turned shopkeeper was terrible at reading people, which he knew wasn't the case, or he was already trying to butter Ichigo up for something. The guy never did anything without some sneaky objective in mind. He sat up and forced himself to sound cheerful, no need to start off antagonistic.

"Glad to be in a good mood, Urahara-san. Hopefully you haven't come to ruin it."

"Well, that depends. I think you'll find this good news."

The shopkeeper sat in the nearby chair and examined his nails for a bit. He had never met anyone so determined to keep him in the spectrum from annoyed to enraged. It must be terribly entertaining in some bizarre way.

"Are you going to tell me sometime tonight?"

"A meeting has been called in Soul Society. Plans to retrieve your zanpakuto have already been made, and will be finalized at this meeting. And you are the guest of honor. We leave Sunday morning."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

In the old days, it had taken roughly an hour for really juicy gossip to make it all the way across Seireitei, a monumental defiance of the laws of physics. No Shinigami or Hell Butterfly could have done the same, not even the fastest captains. So why a rumor could manage it was one of the great mysteries of life.

Now, of course, it took a lot longer, what with all the security and secrecy, the vast distance between divisions and squads. Yet, somehow, gossip continued to make its own rules and word filtered slowly from one messenger to the next. The details were vague, but the gist of the story was that somehow, against all odds, Kurosaki Ichigo was going to come back and fight.

"It's not the first time I've heard that one, Renji."

"This is different. Ukitake himself said it."

She turned to her husband with a look half pitying his gullibility, and half irritated that he jumped at every such rumor. She had always thought Ichigo meant more to her than to Renji, until the strawberry was gone. Renji had raged and lost his temper more times than she could count before anger at his friend gave way to sorrow and depression. Maybe it was harder for him because he didn't have the same unconditional faith in Ichigo that she did. She wasn't as torn about Ichigo's betrayal, because she never believed in it for a second. Renji didn't either, not deep down. But her husband was a man of strong passions, and it had been hard for him to let go of anger.

"So Ukitake was here? I must have missed it."

"What? Of course not. I mean, the messenger said that another messenger heard Ukitake and Kyoraku talking about it."

She just stared at him, tapping her foot, until his excitement started to fade into a confused sheepishness.

"But this could really be it, Rukia! It fits, what with Hitsugaya vanishing and all. That must have been what he was doing, getting Ichigo back."

"You're grasping at straws. That was just a rumor, too. Even if Hitsugaya was gone, you know he doesn't even tolerate anyone mentioning Ichigo. Why would he go after him?"

"Uh, cause we need him. And cause they love each other."

"Rhetorical question. You're stringing rumors together, getting your hopes up, and then you'll be all weepy when it all turns out to be nothing but gossip."

Their mild argument was interrupted by a set of whistles. She sighed. They didn't get much time together, despite her being allowed to pass up a captain's haori to be his lieutenant. At least they'd had the night together, and if they couldn't linger over breakfast, it was a small sacrifice. She went up on her tiptoes to kiss him, making sure they didn't end on a sour note if the message created chaos.

She headed out of the tent to meet the messenger with a little smile. A few minutes later, she returned with a frown.

"What's wrong, babe?"

"More gossip. The messengers are really getting sloppy. I'm going to complain about it. You have the codes?"

She waited impatiently. It would take her half as long to decode the message. But it wasn't only a matter of protocol that the captain read the orders. She was very careful not to abuse her position as his wife, to not overstep the role of lieutenant, not just for Renji's pride, but to ensure the powers-that-be never had a valid reason to put her in another division.

A bark of laughter startled her out of her thoughts, and a moment later her husband handed her the message with his notes and a triumphant smirk.

"Now why, my dear wife, would we both be called to a classified meeting?"

She felt a little spark of hope. Oh, this was going to hurt if it wasn't true.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Man, if you weren't such a good therapist, I'd say you missed your calling, Yuzu."

"You always say that. Is it your way of begging for seconds?"

He held out his plate with a grin, letting himself indulge in the feeling of normalcy, a feeling he hadn't had in months. Well, almost normalcy.

"Seriously, Jinta, do I have something on my face?"

His brother-in-law looked away quickly. Jinta's entire demeanor was off. Usually loud, active, carefree, with a ribald sense of humor that showed strongly around Ichigo, the redhead was acting as if a tiger was sitting across the table. One minute he was being stared at, the next minute it was like the man was trying to pretend he wasn't in the room.

"Don't mind him, he's been acting weirder every day. But since I firmly believe in separating work from home, I've decided not to talk it out like a good psychologist. Instead I'm going to ignore it until I can't stand him anymore and then kick him out."

He laughed while she became very embarrassed, perhaps realizing exactly what that scenario sounded like. They hadn't discussed Orihime yet, but he was sure it would come up. Tomorrow he would try to reach her. It would be best if they could settle the divorce before Sunday. Probably not possible, but if they could reach a basic agreement, it would make it easier on her and Uryu in case he didn't return.

"I am not acting weird, or anything else for that matter. And stop talking about me like I'm not here."

"That's funny, you've been acting like I'm not here all through dinner."

"Drop it, strawberry. Not everything is about you."

Oh, yes it was. He raised a brow while he had a moment of eye contact, watching the slight flinch, but he wouldn't call out Jinta in front of Yuzu. Whatever his brother knew, it was enough to make the guy nervous just looking at Ichigo.

So many secrets. And the biggest one he kept shoving back into the recesses of his mind, afraid even to think about Karin for fear Yuzu might see right through him. He had already decided that if he came through this, he would tell Yuzu everything. Karin disagreed, but he knew it was only her anxiety and guilt. Once the air was cleared, Yuzu would be happier knowing the truth and Karin would be far happier without such a lie hanging over her.

"It's too bad Dad couldn't make it. The two of them could go mope in a corner together."

"What's wrong with Dad?"

"You really spend all that time in Karakura and you don't see him?"

Another secret. He didn't want to spend any more time around his father than he had to. Urahara had said everyone around Toshiro, everyone with a decent amount of reiatsu that is, would be affected. As far as he understood it, Toshiro's power being focused on recovering his memories made Ichigo start to see through the lies blocking his own memories. And now, chances are his own efforts to recover his memories would affect people, too, including his father. So he had been keeping his distance, hoping to leave his father in peace.

"Not lately; I've been too busy."

"Well, maybe you could make a little time for him. He's been absent-minded, like he's really worried about something but he won't tell me."

"It's probably just Ichigo. I mean, your son drops his job, separates from his wife, hides from everyone for weeks at a time. That's enough to worry about, don't you think?"

"Jinta!"

"No, he's right, Yuzu. And I've been avoiding talking to him on top of all that."

"But why, Ichigo?"

He sighed, staring at his plate for another minute trying to think of an answer that didn't make him sound like a terrible person.

"Something else you can't explain because of whatever it is you've gotten yourself into with Hitsugaya-san?"

"Sorry, Yuzu."

Jinta found the nerve to glare at him before standing to help his wife clear the dishes. Fortunately, Jinta claimed he had some important phone calls to make for business reasons, and he moved to the living room with Yuzu, coffee, and one of her delicious cakes, this one a complicated tiered thing of yellow fluff and layers of fruit and cream.

"Good lord, Yuz, it's a miracle everyone in the family doesn't weigh 300 pounds. This is so good!"

She laughed, and he smiled fondly. Yuzu had always loved feeding people, it really was a shame that there weren't two of her.

"I took a marzipan cake to the clinic a few days ago. Ayane acted like she'd never had a dessert before."

"Ayane?"

"Kobayashi, we've become rather good friends. And she's so good at her job; I'm really glad we stole her. She's in charge of both teams on her shift now. And did I tell you, she's dating Itaru!"

"Bit young for her, isn't he?"

"Oh, don't be such a prude. If a man was dating a woman 8 years younger, no one would blink an eye. Besides, what's Hitsugaya? 22? You've got no room to talk, cradle robber."

If only she knew, he thought as he laughed. Yoruichi had shown him a few pictures of Toshiro, and one precious photo of the two of them together, sitting on a bench in a park, his arm behind the snowy head as they gazed at each other over their coffee cups. It took a lot of explaining to get him over the shock and self-loathing. In all the pictures, Toshiro looked about 12 years old, 14 at a big stretch.

And yet, Ichigo wasn't the cradle robber; Toshiro was. He still wasn't sure he believed Yoruichi's claim that Toshiro was closing in on 60 years old in those pictures, but believing it made him feel a little better. He was certainly glad Toshiro didn't look like that when he landed in the hospital. It would have been taken right out of his hands, an unknown child with those injuries.

"Things still going well at the clinic, then?"

"Yes. Boring, actually, without you around. But we get the job done."

"Alright, I'll ask. How is she?"

"I don't know. I tried to talk to her a few times, and she was simply polite. Now she avoids me, which is easy, it isn't like we work together. But I do talk to Uryu. He came to see me last week, Ichigo. He's not a patient, so I thought long and hard about telling you. He's been having trouble sleeping, strange dreams that he can't stop thinking about when he's awake. He wanted to talk about it because he feels like it has gotten bad enough to distract him at work."

Uh-oh. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't been warned that this might happen. He could see that Yuzu had more to say about it.

"What kind of dreams?"

"That's the thing, Ichi-nii. Did you ever talk to Uryu about Hitsugaya-san?"

"Oh course not. Well, we did discuss the business end, the pro-bono factor, but only that. And they never met."

"This whole thing has been unbelievable. Uryu has been dreaming of strange things, some unlike anything else, but others . . .. You remember the dreams? The figures in black with swords, and the masked monsters? How could Uryu be dreaming of the same things?"

He sat his cup down, hating himself for what he was about to say.

"I don't know, Yuzu. That seems pretty impossible."

She looked at him searchingly for a moment. Yuzu was perceptive, and he very carefully resisted the need to fidget, worrying that she'd figured him out.

"You think that's bad. He says Orihime is having nightmares, about some of the same kinds of things. Mostly those monsters for her."

"That is bad."

On so many levels. He'd have to talk to Urahara. If nothing could be done to keep their memories from haunting them, he at least hoped that they could be suppressed until after he did what needed to be done. Bad enough he had wrecked Orihime's life. Dragging her into a war was not an option.

"Ichigo, I know you won't tell me. I tell myself that asking you will make you push me away and tell me even less. But you know something about what is happening to Uryu and Orihime. Maybe Dad. Maybe even Jinta. I'm trying very hard to control my temper."

He stared. She said this in a calm, even tone with only a hint of a frown. She stood and he pressed himself back in the chair as she came closer. Yuzu weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, and had to close her eyes before swatting a mosquito. What the hell was he cringing for? She took his coffee mug and plate.

"You want a refill?"

"No. No, I'm good."

"Suit yourself. Would you take some of this cake with you? You're going to go see them, right? It's too much for just me and Jinta."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Twelve fewer to worry about, a successful day in anyone's book. He'd be damned if he would let this stupidity from base ruin his body count. He growled as he cleaned off Hyorinmaru and sheathed the sword, surveying the scene of the skirmish one last time. Minor injuries mostly, two more serious but nothing beyond what the squad healer could handle. The only gains were supplies, and not much of those. But still, twelve fewer traitors.

He heard Rangiku's command to move out. Under ten minutes, perfectly acceptable. His lieutenant led the squad, a carefully planned exit to a new camp. He would be the rear guard, watching, hoping for a tail, an Arrancar or a decent level traitor at least. What he got was something else entirely.

A dozen flash-steps into retreat, he sensed the pursuer. Three more steps and he caught a glimpse, abandoning his plan to ambush and seeking a place to stop with some cover. A large building, possibly a community meeting hall or a prosperous store going by the stone frame and lower walls that saved it from being a complete loss, offered at least a little privacy from any wondering eyes, and he skidded to a stop with sword drawn. It was unoccupied, districts this far out were so sparsely populated that he hadn't seen or sensed a single soul before or during the strike.

"Toshiro."

He snarled and the Arrancar just grinned.

"What, not glad to see me?"

"You are breaking protocol, Grimmjow. What do you want?"

As usual, the Arrancar ignored the bared steel and quickly invaded his space, the big frame leaning close, oppressive and threatening. That grin was too wide, teeth too sharp as Hyorinmaru pressed against the half naked chest and a lethal kido sizzled at the edge of his thoughts.

"Like I care about your protocol, Shinigami."

A big hand came up to brush across his cheek. He refused to back down, knowing that it would only make the Arrancar more aggressive. The bright blue eyes looked down, and the hand was removed as the man backed away, brushing off the blood-tinged ice that had coated his chest.

"So hostile, Toshiro. And here I only wanted to provide a little comfort. And a warning."

His eyes narrowed. It was his own fault. One moment of weakness, of fury, the need to punish himself for giving into despair, the need to punish Ichigo for leaving him, even if his lost lover would never know of the betrayal. Grimmjow was rash, ruthless, rude, and sometimes, ever so rarely, reminded him of Ichigo. It had been shameful and dirty and nothing he ever would do again. But it had accomplished his goal, pushing him to rock bottom and forcing him to pull himself back up and move on. And ever since, the former Espada took whatever liberties he could.

"First, what happened after our last meeting? Make it good, because it certainly seems like you sold me out."

"You hurt my feelings, darlin'. It was that big bloke, used to be in Aizen's own division, third Espada. He was after me for killing a buddy of his. Don't worry, he caught up with me after he left you for dead. I finished him, but I didn't know what he'd done to you."

"Why should I believe you?"

"You think if I knew you were helpless without your memory, I would have just left you there? You'd still be helpless today, in my bed."

That would be enough to make him sick later when he had time to think about it. Leave it to an Arrancar to come up with an alibi worse than the crime.

"Say your piece, then, before I lose my temper."

"I'm not your enemy, darlin', never will be. I wouldn't lie to you, and it don't sit well, what they're doing."

"Spit it out, already."

"They're bringing Ichigo back. Soon. Thought you should know."

He already knew, had known since Rangiku failed to hide her emotions. But hearing it, knowing that everyone, even the Arrancar, knew it and almost all of them kept it from him, it was still painful. And to think _this_ was the only one who came to him with the truth. His attention snapped back as Grimmjow took a step forward again, trying to take advantage of his distraction. Or, who knew, perhaps the big cat did want to provide comfort in his twisted way. At least the Arrancar was honest, when even his lieutenant was steeped in lies. Hyorinmaru's tip touched Grimmjow's throat, halting the advance.

"Hands off, Hollow."

"No good deed goes unpunished, eh? Look, Toshiro, I'm doing my part to get the strawberry back for my own reasons, and I'm sorry if you don't want that. That's all I really wanted to say. You know how to find me if he hurts you again. Once I've paid my debt to him, I'd be happy to tear him apart for you."

He was actually tempted to smile at that. The man really did think such an offer made sense and would be welcome. He wondered if all of the original Espada were like this, so savage and direct even in their thoughts.

"How sweet of you. Touch one hair on his head, and I'll be the one tearing you apart."

The Arrancar let out a dramatic sigh and shook his head, then, thankfully, turned his back.

"Suit yourself, Toshiro. Some people only seem content when they're miserable."

He watched the man walk away, not dropping his guard. Then, a terrible thought.

"Grimmjow."

Blue eyes looked back, body half turning.

"Who have you been working with on this?"

A flash of fang-like teeth, a sick enjoyment of the pain he was about to inflict.

"Frail lookin' captain but freakishly strong, kinda pretty. I must have a thing for white hair. Watch your back, darlin'."


	20. Chapter 20

Very civilized. Everything was clean and neat, couch and chairs arranged comfortably around the long coffee table, centerpiece of fresh flowers low enough to not be in anyone's way, trays of small sandwiches and smaller pastries readily accessible from any angle. None of the food was on Ichigo's list of favorites, a few items he hated scattered in the mix. Tea instead of the coffee he would prefer, in the fancy tea-set with the delicate cups he found annoying. 'His' chair draped in a uselessly decorative lacy blanket he would ignore or scoff at.

Yes, very civilized. At first, she argued for a neutral meeting place, even the clinic, anywhere but here. Now she was glad Uryu had convinced her to do this here, where she was in control and could make it clear that this was her home, that she no longer had to 'make house' with him in mind.

"Uryu? Did you find everything? It's 5 'til."

"Almost done! He's never on time, anyway."

She sighed. Ichigo probably wouldn't even care, may not even notice half of the little passive-aggressive insults she had knowingly lined up. The last couple of months had involved a lot of soul-searching, a lot of digging through albums and videos, memories of their life together. There had been some very happy times, many of them. Really, they had never had any unhappy times. But she noticed it now, a kind of distance in his eyes, a way he had of looking off at the horizon or drifting into a kind of daydream. It was evident in so many of her memories, now that she knew what to look for.

Especially their wedding. Oh, she had watched that video a hundred times the week she told him to leave. Even there at the altar, he had stared down at his hand for a solid minute while the preacher spoke, while she gazed adoringly at him. There, just before she said her vows, he had searched the crowd of celebrants, a lost look in his eyes as if he did not know what or who he was looking for. There, when he put the ring on her finger, with a tight smile he blinked away a tear she had thought was of joy. And there, he hesitated as he placed his hand in hers, and watched the ring slide onto his finger with a slight frown.

All so small, such little things overlooked in her happiness. But now, they seemed monumental.

Uryu had suggested several personality disorders, in his clinical way, as if it was not his best friend he was discussing. People had all degrees of emotional detachment, all kinds of reasons why they could not love or respond to love. Could it be something so simple? In a way, that would be a relief. It wouldn't be her fault or his, not really, not if it was something he could not control. Whenever she thought that this might be the answer, the last words he spoke to her made a lot of sense.

 _"_ _Ichigo, is that it? Why aren't you angry?"_

 _"_ _You want me to be?"_

 _"_ _Well, no. And yes, I guess. Don't you even care?"_

 _"_ _Of course, I do. I care that you were unhappy, and I hope it gets better. Sorry, Hime, that's all I've got, all I ever had. You know that."_

Maybe she should talk to Yuzu after all. No, some other therapist maybe; she needed someone to talk to about the nightmares she was having, at any rate, which she hoped would go away after all this stress was over. But she couldn't talk to his sister. Besides, what if it turned out Yuzu had always known something was wrong with her dear brother? She wasn't sure if she would cry or get angry, but it wouldn't end well.

"Orihime, I have the papers. Is there anything else I can do?"

She turned and took a couple of steps to meet him as he walked into the living room, a neat stack of papers bound in two open folders in his hand. His expression went from calm and serious to happy surprise as her arms went around him. He always did seem surprised, and she loved that, how he seemed to think it was all a dream and any minute he'd wake up. And he smiled as he kissed her, eyes focused on nothing but her with little crinkles in the corners that showed the sincerity of his happiness.

Uryu had liked her for as long as she could remember. She wasn't blind. Maybe she didn't see it way back in high school, but she definitely noticed it in college. And she saw it again and again in the wedding video that was now solidly committed to memory. He had stood behind Ichigo, sharing Best Man honors with Chad, and trying so hard not to stare, not to look like he was at a funeral instead of the wedding of his best friends. The reception was worse, the camera catching him more than once looking like he might weep.

So what if she didn't run to him out of love? At first, it was confusion, hurt, and maybe even a small, sharp need to hurt Ichigo in return. Uryu did not care; she had confessed her motives once she had started to feel more for him and he did not place blame. He did not care if she used him as long as she was happy. She loved that about him. Loved that she was the dream he didn't want to wake up from. Loved that he shared his feelings so openly with her, that he spent every moment he could with her. And she thought maybe, just maybe was starting to truly love him.

That made it so much easier to deal with the rush of anxiety when the doorbell rang. It was normal, she knew. Even if it was all civilized, it was still a painful end to a lifetime of hopes. She took the papers.

"Will you show him in, Uryu? I'll wait here."

"Of course." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and she turned to take a seat on the couch, as ready as she ever would be to face her soon to be ex-husband.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The last time he had been here, he had been numb, disconnected from this place, this life, still caught it the whirlwind that had changed his view of everything he knew. Now, it was different. In some ways, he felt even more distant. He knew now, and he believed now, that this was all built on one colossal mistake. Then, he had felt like maybe this wasn't supposed to be his life. Now, he knew it for a fact.

He sat in his chair, and he drank tea, and he ate dainty sandwiches and treats. It was as if he was visiting a neighbor's home, friendly acquaintances with mutual interests. At the same time, he was the only one in the room who was able to see beyond the façade. He saw the life he had just lost, and it was as real, as valuable as the one who could not remember losing. Every moment with Orihime had meant something. Not as much as it should have, but it had meant something. And he did love her. Not enough to fight for this life, not enough to want to stay, but enough to know that it would hurt if he let it.

So, he sat and drank and ate and talked, and his thumb frequently rubbed the bare finger, the wedding band removed to avoid even more awkward questions. What threw him more than anything else was Orihime's sympathy. She stayed mostly quiet, and he felt her anger more than once. But then she would look thoughtful, and her gaze would soften with something like concern, even pity. Did she think he was missing her wedding ring on his finger?

"Alright, all of the changes are fine with me. If the lawyer wants any more signatures, just send word. I'll be travelling a bit, but I'll get to it as soon as I can."

Uryu, always the practical one, looked over the pages, making sure the initials and signatures were all in the right places before passing them to Orihime to add her signatures.

"If you decide not to return to the clinic, I would like to discuss buying a controlling interest."

"Actually, should that happen I had expected Yuzu to take control of my part. If she does not want it, I'd be happy to have that talk. Dr. Fujita was made aware before I brought her on board."

"I see. That's fine then, I can work with Hanakari-san."

He debated internally for a moment as he watched his wife finish the last few pages that would make her his ex-wife. And he thought of Toshiro again to quell the uneasy pain in his heart. What a liar. He claimed to love these people. He was angry about being kept in the dark, being lied to, yet here he was lying and deceiving.

They had not asked about the dreams. Why would they? They had no idea what hollows were, how they were connected to Toshiro, to him, to their own secret pasts. At least was not asked, did not have to lie directly about that, as well.

"While I have you both, I just want to say that I appreciate how you've handled this." Another angry glare from Orihime. "I really do regret the hurt I've caused you both. Hime . . . Orihime, I don't expect friendship, and I understand if you hate me, but if there is ever anything you need I hope you will feel comfortable asking me."

Again, her anger and hurt were eclipsed by a calculating look, then a sad sympathy. He didn't have a clue what she was thinking, but at least they weren't yelling at each other like most divorcing couples. Hell, they never did shout and fuss, the worst was her ignoring him for weeks, and serving food he hated just to see if he'd react. Nothing about their relationship was typical, and he knew why. She did not, and he could only imagine how confused she must be. The dreams meant she had been affected, memories leaking through, and with them a sense that life was not right. But she had no explanation like he did, nothing to pin it on except the turmoil of losing her husband.

"I don't know, Ichigo. We'll just have to see. I don't trust you, and at the moment, I would rather not have anything to do with you after today."

Uryu looked shocked at the harsh words delivered so calmly, casually. He imagined he looked a bit saddened, though not for the reasons she would think. This whole mess, so many people hurting. If he had bought this reality by betraying Toshiro and Soul Society, he had not gotten what he paid for.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"I brought you a little something."

He perked up, dragging his eyes from yet another page filled with words that had started blending together over an hour ago. Only one thing warranted that smug tone of voice from Juushiro. Sure enough, it was a green bottle being held out in his direction, the kind of bottle he hadn't seen in, oh, three months at least.

It wasn't the best brand. The bottle was on the small side and only two-thirds full. And he took it in hand like he was being given a great treasure, an invaluable gem. He indulged in the pleasure of expectation for one minute, then set it down at arm's length on the cluttered desk with a sad sigh.

"Thanks for the thought. Would you add it to the supplies for the 4th? I'm not sure I could manage to put it down again."

"Actually, Hirako, Abarai, and Hitsugaya have all collected supplies on recent raids, including medical goods and alcohol. Trust me, this can be spared and Insane would agree."

He leaned back, even that simple action releasing a series of cracks from his cramped spine. He opened the top drawer, where an empty but hopeful cup waited. He did not pour for Juushiro, knowing the man would refuse as always.

"Alright, I'll take the bribe. What is it you want?"

And he raised the cup, nostrils flaring to catch the aroma before touching the liquid to his lips. Ahhh, like the return of spring after the bleakest of winters.

"What I want is to keep you from turning into the old man, even if drunkard is the only alternative." His friend sat with a smile, always so ready with a kind gesture or look. "Take what you can get, Shunsui. You're always under stress these days, but this is a new level of pressure."

"Started, if I remember correctly, by one white-haired captain over another. How goes your part of the plan, by the way?"

"Better than expected. Toshiro's not only caught on once, but several times. Interrupting his squad's activities got him thinking. Matsumoto is certain he's on to her. But none of that mattered in the end."

"Oh, why is that?"

"The Arrancar came right out and told him."

Did Juushiro only give him the sake to try to make him spit it all over the desk? He wouldn't put it past the man. That sweet smile hid a complicated mind responsible for both saving Soul Society with acts of compassion, and wrecking Soul Society with epic, destructive pranks that no one would ever pin on everyone's favorite sickly uncle.

"One of Soi-fon's best has been tailing Toshiro on missions, caught the whole thing. The Arrancar had the nerve to pretend to be the good guy."

"Did you plan that, too?"

"It was a gamble. I'd noticed how the Arrancar seemed protective of Toshiro, so I let slip a little more detail than I might have, made him worry a bit."

What a sneaky bastard.

"It's done then, your plan?"

"As much as it can be. You understand why? Anyone who simply told Toshiro that Kurosaki would be coming back to Soul Society would be hated and blamed, if not outright attacked, which would have caused an entirely new set of problems. This way, he has time to process it before we tear his heart out."

"That's a bit extreme. The boy has always been more resilient than people give him credit for. He would know that this is necessary for us to have any hope of survival, and he would deal with it."

"Deal with it, yes. You weren't there, Shunsui. You didn't see what he became, nothing but power and rage, and when that wore out it left an emotionless shell. Even Aizen was more human. Another blow like that and we'll lose him forever."

No, he hadn't been there, his hands full with another part of the battle. But he had felt it, and heard the stories, read the reports. One moment, Hitsugaya and Kurosaki had broken through to confront Aizen. Though the fight went on, there was a sense of a held breath, the universe waiting for the outcome.

Then Kurosaki was gone. His human allies were gone. And hundreds of the enemy died, struck down, torn apart, frozen solid. The weak, the powerful, all in his path died. Hitsugaya, as no one had ever seen before, without expression as he danced over the ruins of Seireitei leaving ice and corpses in his wake until every drop of reiatsu was exhausted and he fell from the Heavens like a broken angel. Everyone had hoped the damage would be enough to turn the tide, but the losses meant nothing to Aizen as he claimed the throne of Heaven.

He refilled his cup, contemplating the man across from him. Juushiro thought of sparing Hitsugaya pain, and more importantly sparing the Gotei the loss of a captain and the damage that captain might do if he lost control. Shunsui, in contrast, thought that he might just have missed a golden opportunity. Had he thought of it and carefully planned it, he might have been able to unleash Hitsugaya's power on the enemy a second time, more directly. The tensai captain in just the right place, suddenly confronted by the human who had crushed his spirit, and that ice demon might have made a second deadly appearance.

Cruel? Crueler than letting this war drag on to its inevitable whimpering death?

Juushiro had gone still, smile vanished, and he had no doubt that his old friend knew exactly what he was thinking. How the man did not hate him, he would never understand.

"Everything else is in place. This meeting will be our last chance to back out."

"You know we cannot."

He swallowed the last of the sake, hoping it was enough to dull the pain for just a little while.

"Yes, I know."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

 _Toshiro blinked down at the man kneeling before him, all his famed intellect and composure abandoning him to face this alone. His eyes went from the shining silver nestled in black velvet, to brown eyes filled with excitement, nervousness, and growing worry as the silence became uncomfortably long._

 _"_ _I . . . I can't."_

 _The face he had come to love lost its smile and began to settle into lines of sorrow and resignation. He had to say something more, to stop that grief, but something was wrong with him. He couldn't think, much less speak. His chest was starting to hurt, and his throat was tightening. The rush of pure joy he had felt seconds ago was turning into agony._

 _"_ _Is that 'I can't now,' or 'I can't ever?' I know it hasn't been long. I can wait for you, Toshiro. I can wait forever."_

 _Swallowing convulsively, he felt the world sway just a bit. What was this?_

 _"_ _Toshiro!"_

 _His eyes followed the small black box discarded abruptly on the floor, followed the silver band that rolled free of its swaddling to spin sullenly once, twice, then flatten. It seemed his body followed the movement, too, dizzy and falling, spinning as he was lifted and moved to lie prone on the couch._

 _"_ _Baby, why are you crying? I'm so sorry. Whatever you want, it's okay with me. Just tell me."_

 _How unfair. Ichigo was so sad, thinking he had gone too far. He had to tell him. It was all Toshiro's fault. He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, and forced all his emotions to still, brought the ice that had numbed him and protected him for years back into service. When his eyes opened, he sat up, in control once more._

 _"_ _Ichigo, I'm the one who is sorry. I should never have let it go this far. Hell, I should never have let it start in the first place."_

 _If possible, his lover looked even more hurt. A hint of anger was showing in his eyes, an anger that Toshiro was sure would grow, and justifiably be turned on him. It was all over._

 _"_ _I don't understand, Toshiro."_

 _It took all his will to be honest, finally. He was such a coward to hide the truth for so long. His punishment would be watching the love fade out of his Ichigo's eyes, watching anger and hate replace the tender concern._

 _"_ _Maybe in the beginning I kept us a secret because of my pride. But I'm prouder of you than I can say, and I would not hide what we have if I had a choice. Ichigo, a Shinigami and a human, it's a crime. At least as great a crime as what happened between you and Kuchiki. I've led you on, because I was too selfish to let you go. We can't marry. We should never have been together at all."_

 _He had never been this heartbroken. He had faced tragedy, betrayal, loss, but nothing had come close to this. Perhaps it was the anguish flooding his senses, throwing off his perceptions, for it seemed like the anger in chocolate eyes faded. It wasn't possible that those eyes filled again with love instead of resentment. It could not be true that he was being pulled into an embrace, strong arms wrapping protectively around his small, trembling frame._

 _"_ _It's okay, baby. Calm down. It's all okay."_

 _"_ _How is anything okay, Ichigo? How is anything ever going to be okay?"_

 _He spoke softly against the skin of a tanned neck, against the cloth damp with tears he hadn't even known he had spilled._

 _"_ _Well, I love you. Now tell me you love me."_

 _The fear that Ichigo would leave him was slowly fading, seeping away with each stroke of the warm hand through his hair. He started to wonder when exactly he had lost control of this situation. Was it the first time he said yes to the persistent invitations to spend time with the annoying human? Or the first time he had failed to back off when those sweet, soft lips came too close to his?_

 _"_ _I do love you, Ichigo, but . . ."_

 _"_ _Then what are you upset about? You think I didn't know? Rangiku tried everything she could to keep me away from you at first, you know. She told me the so-called rules. I'm the one who dragged you into this knowing it was going to be a problem."_

 _He jerked his head back, suddenly dealing with anger on top of all the confusing, swirling emotions that would not stay contained behind the ice. But how could he be angry at Ichigo for knowing the truth, the same truth he had unfairly hidden?_

 _"_ _I know, baby, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, or to lie to you. I just honestly don't care what the rules are. Why should I care when they are wrong?"_

 _"_ _How can you even think that? Even if we could keep up this charade, do you want to always be trapped, always hiding? Never able to even look at each other without fear of the consequences?"_

 _Ichigo shrugged, with that silly, lopsided grin, as if they were arguing about having coffee or tea with breakfast. And as usual his lover would give in, with that playful, tolerant air that said, 'Whatever you want, even if you are completely mental.' It was little moments like that which came flooding into his mind, all the little, delicate moments that made his once painful life worth living again._

 _"_ _Sure. As long as I know the truth and can be with you, who cares what stupidity we have to put up with? And you never know. Our little secret isn't as well protected as you might think. I'm no normal human, after all, and we have friends in high places. Laws can be changed, exceptions can be made."_

 _He shook his head, bewildered and off-balance. Thinking of it, he was no longer angry that Ichigo had been concealing some knowledge from him. Likely the idiot never thought to mention it because, just like he said, he simply didn't care, even if this secret could get them imprisoned or executed._

 _"_ _Now then, are you planning on dumping me just to comply with an unjust law?"_

 _"_ _No." He surprised himself with the firm conviction in his voice. "No, I'm not letting you go."_

 _The smile that had warmed his cold heart lit up the room. Ichigo turned, standing and moving a couple paces away, then returning, kneeling, holding in his hand a shining band of silver. His breath caught again, this time behind a small smile._

 _"_ _Hitsugaya Toshiro, my secret boyfriend, my secret lover. Will you do me the honor of becoming my secret husband?"_

He blinked himself awake, lying still and trying erase the lingering edges of the dream. It was so clear, every detail and emotion ripped right from his suppressed memories. It was getting worse, so much worse. It was unfair. He had paid the price to move on, only to have Ichigo thrust back into his life.

To fall in love with him a second time. That was what brought these dreams. If their history could be erased, if one moment he could not even remember could be erased, then there really was nothing to stop his heart from falling again. And he was struggling. What, really, could be so terrible in one moment? What could be so unforgivable to counter a love so right that it had been found twice in one lifetime?

To lose him a second time. He should not be surprised that it still hurt. Hurt, what an inadequate word. It ached, throbbed, tore away at his mind, flayed him open every hour, every minute. He was used to it. It had died down, grown numb over the years. Its return was just another incentive to keep fighting. He was not seeking death, as Matsumoto had implied. In fact, he did all he could to survive and do as much damage to the enemy as possible. But eventually even he would fall. So, he fought on, not seeking Death but giving her every opportunity she could ask for. And when it was his time to die he would let go of this hurt.

But Toshiro was so much stronger now. He had survived seeing Ichigo when he recovered his memories, had calmly taken control of the situation, had been the one to say goodbye. He could endure this; no, not only endure. He drew himself up, anxious suddenly to get the day started, pulling himself together and heading to get something to drink, at least. There would be killing later today, something to look forward to. Rangiku was already up, breakfast finished, working on a report. It had only taken the ruin of everything they knew to make his lieutenant handle her work professionally.

Few would be able to tell of his inner turmoil, his outward behavior unchanged, his squad operating at peak efficiency, his division living up to its reputation. His lieutenant could tell, of course. Even had she not known the cause, not been part of the problem, they had been together a long time, through hell itself. He did not avoid her, though he had considered that option. Instead, he thought, and he watched, and she grew more and more nervous under his penetrating gaze. As she worked on a report to central, he sipped tea and observed. She had to rest her hand several times to keep from shaking. She stared at the page of code for far too long as she worked out each word. And she struggled to keep from looking at him, stealing glances at his hands or the papers in front of him.

He was curious. What did she hope to gain from this? Rangiku had made it clear on multiple occasions that she did not want Ichigo back in his life in any way, even though without her, the human never would have gotten close in the first place. He knew of her self-assigned guilt. He did not agree, it was not her fault and he never entertained an ounce of blame. But they never spoke of it, for that would mean speaking of _him_.

So, it was all about duty, then? She did as ordered, most likely, and those who did the ordering knew perfectly well that she would give herself away. They knew that he would see through her, that she would want to break orders out of loyalty, concern, love. From there, it was easy to put the pieces into place. He was being guided to the conclusion he had already reached, little clues dropped in front of him to tell him what was coming.

They underestimated him. He was used to it.

They were afraid of him. That, he was not used to.

Absurd lengths had been gone to avoid simply telling him the truth. His work was hampered by stupid orders, which could have put his squad at risk. His lieutenant was made unwilling party to deception, which could have led to distrust between two who could not afford such a barrier between them. And the Arrancar, the biggest risk, the greatest possible damage, giving Grimmjow of all creatures the pleasure of hurting him.

He had never thought of Kyoraku and Ukitake as fools until now. They should have known, at least Ukitake should have known, that he would do what he had to do to win this war. If that meant seeing Ichigo, he would do it. He did not need to be treated like a child, or like a ticking bomb. He did not need to be lied to for his own good or theirs. He would have sighed if she were not present. For he knew that it wasn't that simple. But he was not prepared to let them all off the hook for this, even if, maybe, they did have reason to be afraid of his reaction.

"I'm finished. Do you have anything to add, taicho?"

He stared a moment longer, until she began to fidget, before taking the slip of paper and reading the coded report. He did not need the code key to add his words, the only message he had for them.

 _'_ _Get on with it, damn you.'_


	21. Chapter 21

She spun around upon hearing her name called, just in time to catch Rukia as the always energetic Shinigami barreled into her. What a relief! She had been on edge ever since talking to the sotaicho and being sent to see her brother. So far, the gathering of powerful Shinigami was only making her more and more uncomfortable. Everyone here was close to her brother in one way or another, but that didn't make them all friendly. Some, she supposed, still resented or blamed Ichigo, others just seemed awkward around her, like they didn't know what to say but they wanted to say something.

Rukia was never like that. She was a lot more serious than when they had met, when Karin wasn't even a teenager yet and she wasn't supposed to know about things like Hollow and Shinigami. No, Rukia had always been as direct and open as she could be, even when she had to lie to the human girl. Rukia had been the one to explain the war and Ichigo's part in it to her when she died, and Karin had never once heard her doubt Ichigo.

She hugged back, wishing again that she could see Rukia more often. Had she known then what she knew now, she wouldn't have taken the lieutenant's position. She could have joined Rukia and Renji in the 13th, then. Not that she had anything against her captain. In fact, Rukia's brother was, if she was honest, one of the few that could keep her in line. More than that, she found herself sincerely wanting to impress him, surpass his expectations, and so she kept herself in line more often than not.

"Is it true? Is this about Ichigo?" Rukia whispered in her ear, standing on tiptoes.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about," she deadpanned, then stepped back to protect her ears from the repressed squeal. Rukia sounded just like a teapot on boil.

She couldn't help but grin, thankful again to have an honest ally who wasn't afraid to talk about Ichigo. A gathering like this was very rare. No more than half of the captains ever met at once, a precaution in case base camp was attacked. She had only been to three meetings with this many higher-ups. While Rukia stepped around her, having already pushed it by greeting her first while her noble brother waited a few steps away, Karin surveyed the group as people started to settle in at a long, oval table. Everyone here had likely figured out what was happening. If they hadn't, looking at this crowd would be a dead giveaway, for every one of them was tied to Ichigo.

There was Division 3, Madarame and Ayesegawa, friends of Ichigo's she had only met at one captain's meeting and had never spoken to. Renji was talking animatedly with them, waving his hands about dramatically. Just approaching the table was Division 5, Hirako and Sarugaki. Shinji had greeted her earlier. The Visored captain had taken the time to talk to her more than once when she was new to Soul Society, breaking a few rules to spend time with her chatting about her brother.

Four captains and their lieutenants, plus the sotaicho, his two lieutenants, and Ukitake. The former 13th captain was no longer active in the field, his health now far too fragile, instead supporting Kyoraku as another, unofficial, lieutenant. All in all, she was more than a little intimidated, but also beside herself with excitement. She was one of the few who truly knew what to expect today, and she would get to see Ichigo again soon. If everything went according to plan, she would get to see the legend that was her big brother in action. And if it didn't go according to plan, they would likely all be dead, again, within the next few years.

Taking her seat next to her captain, who of course was stoic and expressionless, she was pleased that Rukia manhandled her husband around the table and sat next to her. Immediately, the other lieutenant leaned toward her.

"So, is he going to be here today?"

"Rukia, I'm really not supposed to say anything."

"Oh, come on, I'll find out in a minute anyway."

She sighed. Rukia was Ichigo's oldest friend here, and she was right, everyone would know soon. Plus, she didn't really want to keep the secret even for the next five or ten minutes. It had been so hard keeping her mouth shut the past few days. So, while tea was poured and colleagues that rarely met face to face caught up on gossip and actual news, she let herself whisper with the petite Shinigami who could easily be blamed for starting the whole mess, at least for the Kurosakis.

"The plan is to talk about it first, figure out who is going to be an asshole about it and try to work shit out."

The snickering of her friend made her grin. She was so careful around Rukia's big brother, schooled to avoid the look of disdain, like he had just stepped in a pile of shit every time she said shit. The side effect, whenever she could talk to someone who didn't mind 'foul' language, she cursed twice as much to get it out of her system.

"That crazy guy, Urahara, is bringing Ichigo. I don't know if they're gonna signal him or if he's just waiting around or what. Anyway, once he's here we go over the plan to get his Shinigami power back."

"But how? Are we all going to give him some of our power again or something?"

"What?"

"Well, last time we came up with a way . . . oh, nevermind, it's a long story. I suppose it could work twice, but what about his memory?"

"Damned if I know. They didn't tell me the details, just that they have a plan to get his power and his memory."

"But then, what? What if he remembers whatever Aizen did? He'll run off to kill him, I just know it."

That's what she loved about Rukia. Anyone else, even Renji, would wonder if Ichigo would remember betraying them and do it again. Not Rukia. She didn't just assume Ichigo didn't do anything wrong, she _knew_ it.

"I'm guessing they have some kind of plan for that, too. What I can't figure, where's Toshiro?"

"Oh." The violet eyes looked down, suddenly more sad than excited. "I can't believe I hadn't thought of that. They must be planning to keep it a secret. Poor Hitsugaya-taicho."

"But why? If anyone would be happy to get Ichigo back, it would be Toshiro, right?"

The cringe said it all. Karin knew people avoided talking to her, especially about her brother. A few had told her stories, listened to her own tales, but they all fell quiet when she asked how Toshiro was doing. Even Rukia had said that it really wasn't her place to talk about it. She knew now about Ichigo being in love, almost being married, and she had never had a clue when it was actually happening. She'd tried to talk to Toshiro a couple of times, a chilly look and silence all she ever received. He was nothing like she remembered, not his looks, certainly not his personality.

"That's not exactly true. But it really isn't . . .."

"Your place to talk about it, yeah, got the memo."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

His eyes narrowed, fist clenching around the little scrap of paper, and he barely held back a curse. Another change in assignments, another shifting of territories, this one even more drastic. It would put his squad and his division back three or four days, so many missed kills, and again facing the risks of unknown districts.

That was it. He'd had enough of this sick game. With a casual air, he stood and stretched, letting the message fall as he incinerated it with a brief flare of kido.

"Cancel the strike. Move the squad to the west, the second camp. Take the entire squad and all supplies to base camp in 24 hours if I don't return."

"Have you been called in, taicho?"

"That's one way to put it."

More like, they had thrown down the gauntlet one too many times. Now he had no choice but to pick it up or hide like a coward.

"Taicho," her voice was quiet, cautious, "I should go with you."

"Should you?"

He looked down at his hand, noting how it trembled. It was getting difficult to sort out emotions. Mostly rage, he thought, but toward the Gotei, Aizen, Ichigo, himself? And her? He had known Rangiku almost his entire life. They had been partners for decades now. Never since he had taken the haori had he questioned her absolute loyalty.

"Is that part of the plan, then?" Irate, he looked unflinchingly into her wounded eyes, his voice losing its dispassionate tone. "Are you the one they trust to _handle me_ if I lose my temper? I'm just guessing here, _Matsumoto-fukutaicho_ , since I have been kept ignorant of the details. Kept in the dark by my commander, by my subordinates, _lied to_ by my own second, as if this has nothing to do with me."

She flinched, and he watched in anger and detached curiosity to see if she would weep. Before the war, perhaps, such harsh words would bring tears. Before Ichimaru left with Aizen, certainly. But time and hardship had hardened her tender heart, else she never would have been able to lie to him at all.

"So, tell me, should I take you with me? If I leave you here, will you ignore my orders and follow anyway? The very idea of such _insubordination_ would have shocked me a month ago. Now, I would not be surprised."

He was surprised, however, when she did not back down, did not break out the crocodile tears, did not cringe. Instead, hurt changed to anger and she practically spat at him.

"That's right. Got it all figured out, _tensai-taicho_ , like you always do. Why do you bother to ask me any questions at all?"

With two quick steps she was right up in his face, leaning toward him, looking just as furious as he always felt. And he smirked. Not in derision, though he knew that's what she would see. He had not seen such genuine conviction in her eyes in ages.

"Well, I hate to shatter your perfect vision of the world, genius, but you aren't the only one who has to choose between duty and friendship. You aren't the only one who is trying to move forward without hope. And if you could just get your head _out of your ass_ for 10 seconds, maybe you'd realize that at least you have something you might want to live for, someone who loves you enough to fight for."

The smug grin had dropped from his face, eyes narrowing. He was unsure how to react, a feeling he was becoming all too accustomed to. Then she fell back with a horrified look and clapped one hand over her mouth briefly, as if just realizing what she had said.

"How dare you?"

The words were muffled, but he was fairly sure of what he heard, and he cocked his head. Her implication was correct, he did not have everything figured out, as evidenced by his curiosity over what she could possibly mean now. He saw it coming, but did not move to stop her or try to dodge, hearing the impact, tasting blood, feeling his head knocked sideways so forcefully that he staggered a step.

"How dare you make me defend that human bastard!"

Leave it to his fiery lieutenant to use a closed fist instead of an open hand. And leave it to her to see things that way, to be so enraged by confronting her own truths, her caring for both him and Ichigo, that she lashed out at them both. He chuckled quietly as he rubbed his jaw and turned back to look at her, at least some of his anger defused by bitter amusement. In the face of her raw honesty, how could he expect any less of himself? Her wide-eyed stare became a venomous glare as his hand left his chin and went to clasp the chain around his neck.

"You seem to have a talent for it, Rangiku. Fine. Follow along and enjoy the show. You've paid the price of admission, after all."

All the fire abruptly went out of her, and she sagged, one hand on the table, looking down at nothing.

"I suppose I deserve that."

He ran over his words. Even when he was so deep in grief and self-loathing that he pushed everyone away, seeking ways to hurt himself just to feel something other than despair, even then he was not so mean and spiteful. Then, he had been incapable of such, so disconnected from everyone around him that he had no feelings about them one way or the other. Now, he was hurting. But he should not be making the same mistake; he should not be pushing away the few who stood by him through it all.

So, what was he doing? Spreading the hurt, making sure everyone who came near him felt his torment? It wasn't right. It was weak, and the only excuse he could use was inexperience. Until Rangiku, he had never tried to rely on anyone, not even Momo or granny. Until Ichigo, he had never truly let down his defenses. And Ichigo had taught him a valuable lesson. Sharing pain was difficult. Sharing strength, accepting the support of another, that was nearly impossible for him. But once he had, the world had become a different place, a place once riddled with threats and challenges became filled with possibilities and wonder.

"No, Ran. You deserve so much better."

It was an apology, and a plea, and she knew it. Really, she did deserve better. Even if she had a choice when ordered by the sotaicho, which she did not, he still had no right to blame her. Though he considered her a friend, his dearest friend, he never had left the door open for her to talk about what had happened, snapping at her or punishing her by shutting her out for weeks at a time for even mentioning Ichigo. She was only doing what he had taught her to do, keeping secrets, keeping her distance, keeping her own hurt and guilt bottled up inside.

He did not use kido to accelerate the healing, a strange way of acknowledging that he, in fact, did deserve it. The bone was not broken, just terribly bruised. And he did not avoid the incredulous stares of his soldiers as he left the command tent with his lieutenant on his heels. They would not have heard the exact words, the barriers around the tent just strong enough for that, though Rangiku's shouting and their reiatsu would be telling enough without the red and swelling skin of his left jaw and cheek. It took only a few minutes for the squad to gather and hear her instructions, while he stood back observing the tension, the attempts to hide curiosity. His poor division, they were so used to bizarre behavior from their captain and lieutenant that it didn't even frighten them to suspect the two had been fighting seriously enough to end with Toshiro getting decked.

He hated traveling to base. For the sake of security, they would spend more than an hour on the move through random locations and preset traps to be as certain as possible that they were not followed. It was necessary, and he swallowed his irritation as he returned to the tent to gather his scant belongings and a couple of withered apples to stave off hunger.

The time went quickly. The need to stay on alert kept his mind mostly occupied. They picked up one tail, three very foolish Arrancar trying to sneak up on a captain and a lieutenant. It was barely worth drawing his sword for, but killing them was always satisfying. The final passage through a complicated set of traps and barriers took all his attention for a good 30 minutes. 30 minutes without thinking of him, without thinking of what was coming.

They passed the last barrier, both raising hands high and staying still while surrounded by onmitsukido. Passwords exchanged, reiatsu confirmed, they were finally allowed through to the current and favorite base camp. The meadow was, as always, empty and pristine. Buildings were carefully hidden in the surrounding forest, the old-fashioned way, careful placement, dirt and plants as camouflage, no kido to give them away if an enemy got this far. And the large cave entrance had its own natural screen of tall spruce, thick underbrush, and a rocky overhang. As he passed through yet another set of barriers to enter the cave, he started to catch the reiatsu signatures inside and his heart sank.

So, this was it. That final provocation had been either to distract him while they met behind his back, or, more likely, Ukitake arranged it knowing it would bring him running. A final insult, to not simply tell him to come? Or some twisted way to let him choose, to pretend not to understand and stay in ignorance a little while longer?

There were hundreds of Shinigami within the caverns, an underground city of stone and darkness that had become home to what was left of the Gotei 13. But the strong ones stood out. Along with the sotaicho, there was Ukitake, the Abarais, Kuchiki and his lieutenant Kurosaki, Madarame, Ayasegawa, Hirako . . . those with the strongest ties to Ichigo. And they were all staring as he stalked into the meeting hall, a few rising to their feet, silent and waiting as his eyes locked on his only other friend, the man who had cruelly pulled his strings to make him dance to this very spot.

Unlike with Rangiku, the rage did not abate. He let it flood him, the desire to do serious harm, pleased to see the pale skin lose its hint of color, the brown eyes widening. Internally, automatically, a battle plan formed and revised, noting the two lieutenants behind Kyoraku, hands on sword hilts. The former 11th Division members, similarly standing and braced, always eager to fight. The Visored, fearsome opponents if they joined in, hard to tell with the casual, somewhat amused expressions. Kuchiki and the Abarais, also not predictable, more likely to try to halt any action than try to harm him. Little Kurosaki, poor thing, power enough to be a threat but too uncertain, already looking like she might panic.

He stopped several feet from the empty end of the table, hand well away from Hyorinmaru but struggling to redirect the murderous impulses. If he did not wish this to escalate, perhaps he should consider simply turning, leaving, and letting Kyoraku and Ukitake go to hell. He could continue to fight on his own, under no one's authority. It wasn't like what was left of the Gotei had the men to spare to stop him or arrest him. The very thought was ludicrous.

"Hitsugaya-taicho, what a pleasant surprise. You were not directed to attend this meeting, I believe?"

Tearing his eyes away from Ukitake to settle on the seated sotaicho, falsely casual with a lazy air, he gave a grin that was more a baring of teeth. Kyoraku didn't even twitch, not that he expected it. He now knew that he had the power to intimidate the old captain, though that was based on fear of what might happen if he lost control.

"Let's not play that game, sotaicho. You've been directing me to be here for weeks." His eyes flashed back to Ukitake, full of threat. "Well, you have me. So, let us talk about this plan of yours."

What they failed to realize was that he had never lost control; he had willingly surrendered it, giving all that he was to the powerful dragon in order to hide for a time, to indulge in bloodlust that his waking mind would not permit. And it had been glorious, the power, the death and destruction on a scale he had only imagined. Even if he did so again, Hyorinmaru would not harm Shinigami allies. That said, the Gotei was treading very close to the line between ally and enemy.

"Please, have a seat, Hitsugaya-taicho. We were only beginning the discussion."

"Then please, continue. Do not let my presence be a hindrance."

He saw a few shivers, the pressure of his reiatsu causing the air to chill and he did not pull it back. He wasn't sure he could, and was not inclined to try. To be honest, he still was not sure what would come of this, the intensity of his emotions strangely making him feel numb, distant. Part of him wanted to scream and throw a tantrum like the wounded beast he knew he was. Part of him wanted to attack, even knowing he was seriously outgunned in this fight. And part wanted to give in, to sit, lay his head on the table and wait for death or life, and not move until one or the other came.

"Toshiro, why don't we just . . .."

"Do not dare speak to me, Ukitake Juushiro." He snarled, the calm cold breaking under the strain of his anger. "Stay in this deep hole and do not cross my path after this day."

Gasps were heard, including from Rangiku. The frail former captain fell back into his seat, somehow even paler, Kyoraku's hand reaching out to rest on the thin arm. Despite being waved down, Madarame and his lieutenant still stood with hands on hilts, as did the 1st Division lieutenants. Others around the table stayed seated but were tense. He did not blink, did not sit, did not return the nervous glance from Rangiku. He knew everyone in the room recognized his stance, relaxed and alert, eyes on the greatest threat but taking in all. One push. One wrong word and he knew he would break whether he wished to or not. And that would end it. He could not win against this many.

Kyoraku drew a breath to break the silence right as three new arrivals crossed through the barriers behind him.

He staggered forward a step before Rangiku grabbed his arm, steadying him. He had not predicted this, had assumed they could not bring _him_ here with so little reiatsu.

Quickly, he reached for Hyorinmaru's presence, stopping the panic, letting the dragon's cold fury surround him and block the pain. It was a tactic he rarely used, a crutch to help him through the worst moments when everything crashed down and living no longer seemed worth the effort of taking another breath. Rangiku had pulled away with a yelp in reaction as the very air around him took on a deathly chill. He did not need her support any longer, and he straightened, emotion and reason dropping away into the icy void.

* * *

 **A/N**

Don't know why I never tried author notes at the end. Makes more sense, eh? Doesn't get in the way for those not interested.

 **DenIchi** , my friend, _shhhhhh_. Is rated T, somehow, still don't know how I'm managing not to include sex. I'll leave it up to you to decide what I was implying between Tosh and Grimm (and you've read my other stories, so I'm sure you'll guess right). Yeah, **Shka** , definitely going to have to do a GrimmHitsu story someday to get it out of my system. Just think adult Tosh is so easy to match up with just about anybody. Another reviewer ( **Karupin Sama** ) noted that I always have Grimm chasing Tosh, called Toshiro " _Bad boy bait_!" Ain't it the truth. I'm a GrimmIchi fan, too, but let's face it, too many awesome stories with that pairing already! Hmm, never written a threesome before . . .


	22. Chapter 22

"Now remember, when we come through, just put your hands in the air and don't say or do anything. Any. Thing. Understand?"

He rolled his eyes as he nodded again.

"They've made a special exception for us to travel straight to base camp. They're going to be very, very tense."

"Yeah, I got it the first ten times. Besides, Yoruichi used to be in charge of all of them, right? She can just smack them down if they try anything."

The purple ponytail bounced as the laughing lady picked up the pace. Urahara couldn't be that worried about it. The psycho didn't worry that much about anything. If there was a team of assassins waiting for them, he half expected the demented duo to pull out water pistols the second they arrived. But maybe they were only yapping to keep him distracted from the incredibly creepy . . . nope, downright terrifying surroundings.

It had been explained to him, what this place was and why they had to 'go the long way around' to get to Soul Society. The two with him seemed comfortable, as much as they ever did. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was jogging down the intestines of some huge and horribly ugly monster, staying one step ahead of being digested. Shinigami were creepy, that's all there was too it. They were weird, their clothes, their weapons, their attitudes, and even their methods of travel, as bizarre and frightening as Stephen King's nightmares.

And he was one of them, god help him. Once upon a time, he had done this sort of thing every day.

"Almost there. Just control your temper for five minutes."

"I don't even have a butter knife. What exactly do you think I'm going to do? Bite them? Man, just get me out of here."

He returned to concentrating on not looking behind him, not looking up, not looking sideways, ignoring the feeling that something awful was just about to reach out and drag him off, bury him alive in this slimy darkness. 'Toshiro, Toshiro, Toshiro, deep breaths, keep running steady and before you know it, you'll see Toshiro.'

The light at the end of the tunnel did not appear far in the distance, but suddenly, a gateway only steps ahead. He couldn't help but sprint, every scary movie, every horror novel, knowing that it was now, the very last moment before safety, that the creature finally catches up, sinks its claws in. The last shred of his dignity kept him from a girly scream as he nearly jumped into that light. Unfortunately, a certain golden-eyed woman had been between him and the gateway. Now she was under him as they both tumbled onto hard-packed mountain soil, a thin layer of dry, prickly grass to cushion their fall.

"Ow, ow ow, ow!"

"Get off me, you strawberry oaf!"

"Actually, I suggest you both stay very, very still."

He opened his eyes, stopped rubbing his head, and gazed up at the crystal blue sky, a fringe of dark pine, and the air smelled like paradise, clean, crisp, no hint of the poisons of industry. It would have been an amazing moment if it weren't for all the knives.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

One wonder to the next, and he felt like a tourist. Or some circus animal on parade, an exotic creature far from home. All around, men and women stared at him. Men and women carrying swords and scars. Furtive glances, hostile glares, and here and there cautious smiles, hopeful and hidden as quickly as they were spotted.

The series of caverns were surely not always so quiet, not with hundreds of Shinigami coming and going. He followed two of the guards, the onmitsukido, and it did not escape his notice that Urahara and Yoruichi had fallen a step behind him, on either side. Was it to keep him caged between four? Or was it a gesture of respect? Too much, too different, it didn't do any good to guess at things like the intentions of crazy people.

"So, Kurosaki," speaking of crazy people, Urahara spoke loudly in the quiet of the cave, "what do you think of the base camp of the Gotei 13?"

"Not quite what I expected." More hostile looks, a few comments in low, angry voices. Whispers of his name, some spiteful or scared, some in awe. Whispers of his companions' names, too, reminding him that there was more to the cat and the shopkeeper than met the eye.

"I thought you said the Gotei was a broken army without a home. This is much more impressive, a fortress full of proven warriors. There's nothing broken about them. Honestly, I'm a bit intimidated, Urahara-san."

There was an increasingly loud ripple of voices as his words were spread. Such a little thing, a word of support. But it carried weight. He was loved and hated, perhaps a bit more hated. He was also feared, even now, powerless. His compliment would be repeated, exaggerated, and maybe, just maybe, shift a few attitudes. And it cost him nothing. It was a lesson he had learned time and again as a doctor, how much a nod of respect, a small show of encouragement could mean to the wounded.

The wide cavern started to narrow, the crowd dropping away behind them as the small party made a couple of turns down side passages, deeper into the mountain. Ahead, two lines of guards, and their own guards moved to each side to join their fellows. He could not see the barrier, barely felt something, like walking through spiderweb, too little reiatsu to be fully aware but enough to feel that ghost of a touch. What he did feel the moment the delicate touch faded was piercing cold.

A few more steps and the narrow darkness widened into a large oval cavern, smooth walls, high ceiling, lights similar to streetlamps with no visible source of power. Centered in this cave was a massive wooden table, oval matching the stone walls, with about half of the thirty or so chairs occupied. All of this flashed before his eyes in an instant, as well as the ice coating the floor, glistening on the dark walls, the chilled fog in the air as he breathed out.

Between him and the table, a figure in black and white became the focus of all his attention. White hair, locks of various lengths tossed at various angles, thick and oh, so soft, he knew. It was physically painful, the way his heart lurched as that tall form turned, the first glimpse of blue-green fire stealing his breath. White teeth bared in a snarl, lean muscles tensed, right hand clenching on sword hilt, and those glowing eyes, fierce and feral and full of fury. He stood transfixed, tiny alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind, ignored in favor of the rush of pure joy simply to see such beauty, even if, _especially if_ it was the last thing he ever saw.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The plan had been to bring back Kurosaki Ichigo. Not the decent, respectable man he had become, the human with minimal spiritual power that spent his days saving or improving the lives of his own kind. This war had no use for decent men. The return of his zanpakuto would destroy that average human, return him to the powerful warrior he once was. The Gotei required him reborn, the Shinigami with questionable loyalties, a Hollow soul, and enough raw power to face down a god.

Rangiku hated the very idea. If only Toshiro could have forgotten him, if only she had never pushed them together, and failing that, if only he could stay the way he was, human, weak, distant. Her part in this had been coerced, knowing that if she did not do as asked then they would be even more forceful with her captain. By lying to him, she had tried to buffer this pain, make this moment bearable. She had failed.

Later, she would kick herself for not doing something, anything, just standing there with her mouth hanging open like some first-year cadet. Later, she would replay everything that seemed to happen too fast to see, and yet in slow motion, amazed at how much detail she caught when at the time it all seemed like a blur. One moment she stood, frost coated hands trembling in front of her, staring at the man that looked like her captain, moved like her captain. But whatever it was looking out through eyes glowing with power was not her captain, not the Hitsugaya Toshiro she had known since he was small enough for her to pick up by the scruff of the neck like a hissing kitten.

The next moment, pandemonium. Shouts and the ring of metal on metal, a shrill scream, a deep howl like some wounded animal, and the scent of blood. Only a couple of hours later she would sit quietly on a cot in a crowded barracks, unable to sleep, and she would pull the tangled threads of memory apart to weave them back together in a pattern that made sense. Starting with the arrival of that damned human.

Her conscious mind had not really registered what had caused her captain to stumble, though a century of training made up for her lack of attention, identifying the two former captains and the weak but distinctive reiatsu of her former friend. Even her instincts were swamped by the flood of reiatsu that followed, the overwhelming surge in power from her captain, the answering pressure rising from the captains and lieutenants all around, even her own flaring in defense, automatically bolstering her body and mind to stand against the onslaught.

And there she had stood, bathed in the icy and oppressive waves of power while reality slowed and raced at the same time, over in a flash yet it took ages for her captain to turn, an animalistic growl as Hyorinmaru was drawn in a glittering, smooth arc of silver and white, the unbelievable happening as the blade turned, slicing down as sword and wielder lunged.

Someone had screamed, a woman's voice, but not hers. No, too frozen in horror to scream and then the scene radically changed as two figures appeared on either side of the white haori emblazoned with the Division 10 symbol, two swords clashing together, halting Hyorinmaru's downward stroke with a screech of metal. But it did not end so simply, the two crossed swords almost instantly encased in quickly spreading ice, shouts from Ikkaku and Yumichika as that ice reached their hands in the space of a heartbeat, long enough for Toshiro, _surely not her Toshiro_ , to shift his stance, killing blade speeding along a line that would cut through first the captain, then his lieutenant.

What happened next truly did not make sense, as many times as she replayed it in her head. The swirling pink petals that broke the ice and slowed the potentially fatal blow, yes, that she understood. Kuchiki Byakuya, ever fast to act, giving the Division 3 leaders the vital second to get clear. Which, being stubborn, battle crazed disciples of Zaraki Kenpachi, they did not do, moving instead with impressive teamwork to counterattack, aiming away from the dangerous zanpakuto to cut at her captain directly, one blade low, one high.

Intently focused on the vulnerable human in front of him now that no steel was between them, her captain seemed to have dismissed the failed attack, dismissed the danger of two captain-class opponents so close they could touch. Her heart clenched in dread, fully expecting the bloody fall of Soul Society's last hope and the simultaneous mortal wounding of the ice dragon. For one heartbeat, she saw him, the source of her captain's joy and pain, a soft smile on his face, the brown eyes locked on his attacker filled not with fear or anger, only with love. It became terrifyingly clear to her then what a disaster it would be, how deeply, irrevocably it would damage Toshiro if he killed the man he loved, and then she did scream his name.

Yumichika's blade stopped mere inches away from cutting just below the groin, a calculated strike at the femoral arteries, halted by a black-clad arm. Shihoin Yoruichi, legendary leader of assassins, spies, and nobles, crouched low with arm raised to deflect the blow, to protect the man attacking her human charge. As if that was not mystifying enough, Urahara Kisuke, wielding his sword with a disdainfully casual air, pushed back Ikkaku's attempt to slice just below undefended ribs.

Why? What could they possibly have been thinking, other than protecting Toshiro? Maybe they expected Kuchiki's Senbonzakura to hold back Hyorinmaru, or for the sotaicho, mysteriously absent from the fray, to finally intervene, or one of the many others in the room to assist. If that was their plan, they were let down.

The iron scent of hot blood was much sharper in the air sterilized by bitter cold. It was a killing blow, somehow halted, blade sunk deep through bone, muscle and flesh, down through left shoulder, shearing through clavicle, scapula, ribs, but stopped, stopped just above the heart, stopped not by resistance, but by the will of the killer. Physical shock registered on the strong features, but the brown eyes still showed love and . . . satisfaction?

She was moving. Too late, too late. Blocked, her movements and her view, bodies clad in black and white all around, keeping her from her captain, from the human who had started to fall. Shouting, pushing, all the previous static shattered. Just a glimpse of white hair, lowering into the sea of black and white, and all the chaos was halted, drown out by an unearthly howl of despair and agony, the soul-crushing pain in her captain's voice the last sound she heard before a devastating wave of freezing reiatsu stole her senses.

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"NO! Ichigo!"

She clutched at him, turning him from the way he had collapsed slightly sideways, face-down, turning him toward her, pulling his uninjured shoulder so that his head tilted into her lap. She had fought to get to him, helped by her smaller than average size, aided more when she clambered up from being shoved down onto her knees, finding several of the obstacles gone, down on the ground unconscious or barely hanging on under the weight of reiatsu unlike anything she had ever felt. As strong as it was, she fought to her feet, lurched over the struggling form of the 3rd Division captain, desperate to get to her brother, desperate with the fear of losing him when they had just reconnected.

"Ichi-nii, Ichigo, please!"

The wound was terrible, blood everywhere despite the fact that he was not bleeding now, a hard layer of ice covering the shoulder and down chest and back. His eyes opened, confused and soaked in pain, looking up at her own eyes, blurred and panicked, and then drifting away, sliding to the side, fixing on the partially crumpled form only two feet away.

"Toshiro," a whisper so faint she could barely hear it.

A little sliver of jealousy worked its way into her heart, followed by indignant anger. She glared at the white head, bent low, not lifting or moving at all in response to the weak plea. The man who had tried to murder her brother was on his knees, sagging low, shoulders held up in the firm grasps of two captains, Hirako and Abarai. Between her brother's limp body and the captive killer, the long katana stretched like a dividing line, still steaming from hot blood on its frosted edge. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to attack, to punish the heartless bastard for what he had done, and she growled as she tensed, only the head in her lap keeping her in place.

Looking down at the eyes glazed again in misery, nearly shut but still struggling to look at the man who had done this, her anger turned to rage. Gently she moved her knees while steadying the shoulder with one hand, supporting the orange-haired head with the other, parting the two of them so that she would be free to rip apart the object of her wrath.

"Kurosaki-fukutaicho."

Ichigo grunted as she settled his head on the floor, eyes closing peacefully, oddly not wincing or clenching. Muscles tightening, she moved to spring forward, hand going to the hilt of her zanpakuto. But her body did not move. Growling again, all the will she had used to overcome the suffocating weight of sharp, cold reiatsu was gathered for another attempt, not thinking of what held her back, only of how to push through and avenge her brother.

"Karin. Stop fighting me."

She looked away from the villain with a gasp, only then registering the voice. Calm, always so controlled, and as sweet to her ears as the most sublime symphony, as the song of wind through the trees. Long, elegant fingers on her shoulder, gripping lightly, all that was needed to restrain her. That resonating, authoritative voice speaking her given name, all that was needed to quell her anger.

What had she been about to do? Kill Hitsugaya Toshiro? Even if it were possible, which perhaps it was with her rage and his seeming vulnerability at this moment, the very thought made her ill, disgusted with her own lack of sympathy. All else aside, this was the man her brother loved, had loved nearly all his life, loved enough to marry, to chase into a lost war. This was the man he loved so deeply that he was able to stand undefended, to accept whatever fate his love deemed right. Who was she to not respect that choice?

"Calm yourself, lieutenant. You must let us help."

Had she . . .? She looked around, all eyes on her, her brother, her brother's lover. Captains and lieutenants all, and several who had obviously tried to move forward, to get to Ichigo. With a sigh she relaxed, feeling the slender fingers relax as well, the famous Kurosaki reiatsu dying down around her to the relief of the powerful men and women surrounding her. Immediately using her small frame to her advantage not unlike Karin did, Rukia slid through the gap between Hirako and Madarame, sliding to her knees and reaching not for Ichigo but for her.

Allowing the embrace, she looked over Rukia's shoulder to see turquoise eyes, cold, stunned, as numb as she herself felt, and yet overflowing with silent tears.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"I've been saving this for the day Aizen dies. Or I die. Whichever. But it seems like it's truly needed now."

He watched as the rough, hairy hand placed an old, chipped clay cup on the desk before him. The floral smell was attractive, when he usually found the scent of sake acrid and unappealing. Beside him, Rangiku took the slightly nicer and larger cup set in front of her, for once making no comments or sounds of enjoyment as she tossed her head back. Suddenly, that seemed like a very good idea, and he grimaced as he lowered the empty cup.

"Another?"

He gritted his teeth and nodded once, sharply. It seemed a fine time to abandon the lifelong habit of avoiding alcohol. He'd already given up every other virtue, including his self-control and his honor. Why the hell not?

"What are you going to do, Shunsui?"

"Hmm? About what, my dear?"

He laughed bitterly as he set the cup down again, eyeing the sotaicho as he tipped the bottle, this time leaving the refilled cup for the moment. What could they do? Throw him in a prison they didn't have, for an attack they had provoked? Strip the haori from the captain with twice as many kills and successful strikes as any other, the captain they came running to when they needed a flawless plan of attack?

"Then what are we doing here?"

"Killing time, Ran. He needs to make it look like I'm at least getting a lecture."

"Perhaps I should. Lecture you, that is."

"That will be the day. This is on you, sotaicho."

"You know, I thought at least you might be humbled by this. I should have known better. Your stiff neck is the one constant since you were knee high."

"I will be doing a fine job of bending my stiff neck soon enough. Not to you."

"While you are feeling magnanimous, shall I call in Ukitake for the apology I'm sure you are dying to get off your chest?"

"Apology?" He looked up casually, the empty ache inside denying the anger he expected to feel. "You've lost your mind, old man."

"Taicho . . . it's Juushiro we're talking about. You know he only did what he had to do. He didn't want to hurt you. I know some of the things he did seem cruel, but he was trying to protect you."

"That's the same excuse you used, Matsumoto. Wear it thin at your own peril."

"She is right, you know. He insisted on setting it up to break things to you slowly. I would have simply ordered you to do as you were told."

"Enough. I do not need to hear that my friends know me less well than my enemies. The point has been made quite clearly."

The sad thing was, he was not even upset to say and to believe such a thing. All his confusion was gone, wiped out by the primal brilliance that was Hyorinmaru. The dragon knew no hesitation, no pain of betrayal, no loss of dedication. He had been taught a very harsh lesson, not by his friends, not by his enemies, but by his own soul. The dragon had given him the death of Kurosaki Ichigo, served up the vengeance he thought he wanted on a silver platter. And thus, made him confront the truth.

And Kyoraku Shunsui thought to humble him with wise words? What hubris.

"Whose fault is that, Hitsugaya-taicho? When have you ever let anyone know you?"

He lifted his cup to that. The third went down much easier than the first.

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The infirmary room was crowded. Four beds with only one patient, three healers outnumbered by six Shinigami. Third seat or not, mild-mannered Yamada Hanataro had no chance of chasing out the concerned spectators. Rukia sat on the bed to Ichigo's left, her arms wrapped around Karin, her eyes on her injured friend. She remembered Ichigo's stories of his first trip to Soul Society, chased back and forth through Seireitei as he risked his life to save hers. And the short and timid healer had been there, the surprising key to bringing Ichigo to her rescue.

Now, here he was, healing Ichigo again, hopefully playing his part in the story that would end with Ichigo saving Soul Society from Aizen once more. Little Hanataro, an unlikely hero far in the background. How he had grown in skill and confidence, taking charge of the small team of healers and working with calm authority. The wound would not be so dreadful if Ichigo were a Shinigami. But he was human, and a weak one at that, here in spirit form and so very vulnerable.

Looking around the silent room, she saw that almost every eye was focused on the healers or on Ichigo's face. Everyone here loved the human; everyone here believed in him. The years he had been gone had been a nightmare, a hell many blamed on none other than the one-time hero of Soul Society.

Near the door, Urahara leaned back against the wall, Yoruichi leaning against his side. Twice now the pair had taken Ichigo under their wing, training him and sending him to another world with only some of the truth to guide him. On one of the two beds on the opposite side of the room sat Ukitake, her former captain. She did not know the details, only that Ukitake had a lot to do with the plan to get Ichigo's power back. And somehow, he had royally pissed off Hitsugaya. The old captain looked thin, pale, pained, like he belonged in that infirmary bed and might never leave it.

And then there was her husband, pacing the narrow aisle from time to time, currently lingering at the foot of the bed. Ichigo was his best friend, despite their short time together being full of rivalry and nearly fatal battles, despite Renji struggling to get it through his head that there was no way the common rumors were true, no way Ichigo sold out Soul Society to save his own skin. She met his worried gaze with a comforting and adoring smile, earning a slight smile and a lightening of the weight in his eyes.

A quiet sigh from Karin drew her attention back. The gash was beginning to close, which meant the center of the cut was well healed. Everyone here knew that the sword had stopped an inch at most from slicing into the heart. Everyone here knew how difficult it was to halt a blow strong enough to cut through that much bone. Hitsugaya might have intended to kill, almost certainly intended it. But he had not when it was within reach. And the ice that sealed the wound had prevented major blood loss, likely saving the life he nearly ended.

"He's going to be fine, Karin."

She rubbed the girl's back comfortingly. Karin had a strong spirit, and it was easy to forget how young she was. Especially now, after getting a small taste of just how powerful the younger Kurosaki could be. Rukia had lost consciousness for at least a solid minute when Hitsugaya attacked, unleashing enough reiatsu to kill had any weaker Shinigami been present. She hadn't been the only one, even some of the captains had struggled. Yet Karin had barely faltered, then pushed everyone a second time with an explosion of raw power. Until her own brother stepped in, calming his fiery lieutenant with a touch and a word. Interesting, that.

"Damn right he'll be fine. That's nothing for Ichigo. Barely a paper-cut."

Karin smiled halfheartedly up at Renji, encouraging her block-headed husband to open his fool mouth again.

"I did worse than that to him the first time we met. Remember that, Rukia?"

"You mean the night you came to kill me or throw me in prison? Right before Ichigo got up and smacked you down like you were a pesky mosquito? Yeah, I think I remember that."

Karin snorted at the red spreading across Renji's face before looking back to her brother.

"You don't have to convince me. I know exactly how tough my brother is."

Rukia was about to tell her how right she was when the green glow subsided, and the two other healers straightened while Hanataro bent closer to peer at the pink seam running up and over Ichigo's left shoulder. They were all silent again, waiting. The third seat healer turned to face her and Karin as his team left, his always kind face lit with an easy smile.

"He needs to rest for the rest of the day and I'll check him again tonight. He'll be up and around tomorrow, Kurosaki-fukutaicho, though that arm will be out of commission for several days, maybe longer. I'm not sure how fast it will heal. Kotetsu-taicho will be here by morning."

Hanataro blushed even easier than Renji, his cheeks on fire when Karin stood and hugged him tightly for several seconds, whispering a 'thank you' in his ear. Suddenly reverting to the mousy little seventh seat she remembered, Hanataro stuttered through a 'you're welcome' and scooted out from under the wide grins of Renji, Urahara, and Yoruichi, scampering out the door. Karin sat back down with another sigh, more relaxed this time. Ichigo's face had regained some color, breathing easy, but still asleep.

Ukitake suddenly stood, the only one in the room who did not look relieved and swaying slightly on his feet. Then she felt the approaching reiatsu. She felt Karin tense, and all eyes turned toward the door, then back to the frail yet still powerful former captain as he stepped closer to Ichigo's bed. With all he had been through, as many centuries as he had seen, Ukitake was very good at hiding his thoughts. With an easy smile and a cheerful voice, he looked to Karin.

"Well, your brother is on the mend. I should go get some rest; it has been a very long day for this old man."

Rukia stood and moved around the foot of the bed to embrace him, wanting to give him encouraging words. But honestly, she was not at all sure that he had done the right thing since she did not know the circumstances, only the nearly disastrous results. And she could not ensure him that the young captain he had befriended would forgive him, because she had felt not just anger, but hatred in that cold reiatsu. So, she hugged him a little tighter, this kind man who had been nearly a father figure to her, the familiar feeling of his thin hand in her hair reminding her of easier days.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He slowed his steps as he turned down another branch of the twisting tunnels, giving the busy Shinigami of the 4th Division time to scatter as they felt or saw him coming. It was easier than dealing with them close-up, and their fear didn't bother him in the least. He knew, despite the barriers around the meeting hall, everyone in the camp had sensed the vast amounts of power unleashed.

Picking up the pace once more, he couldn't deny the anxiety that had come to disturb his recently acquired resolve. Just because he had found peace with Hyorinmaru's considerable help, that did not mean Ichigo would forgive him for what he had done. Well, if it came to it, he would just have to accept any hurt, any fury, and any resentment with open arms, just as the brave, stupid, rash, wonderful human had done.

It was only a pause of a second when he reached the door, just a second to draw in a steadying breath. On the other side, the faint taste of Ichigo's reiatsu, once so vast it had wrapped around him like the comfort of the night sky, now nearly lost in the surrounding hum of power. He opened the door and stepped in, not meeting the many eyes that watched him. They were wary, as they should be, but they did not matter. Only one set of eyes mattered, brown eyes full of tenderness, confidence, and an understanding worthy of the benevolent gods in mortal dreams. Eyes that were closed to him.

He must have stood lost in his own longing and sorrow for some time before he felt someone take his hand. Expecting to see Rangiku, wondering when she had followed after he had left her behind to finish off Kyoraku's sake, he instead met a face that resembled Ichigo's, eyes darker, calm and echoing that same understanding, that compassion. Wordlessly, he was tugged forward and led around the occupied bed, then gently but insistently shoved until he sat on the empty bed, a little dazed at being handled so familiarly by Ichigo's sister, when he had been nothing but cruel to her since the day she came to Soul Society.

Karin turned, took her brother's left hand and settled between him and Abarai Rukia, the big hand between her two small ones, resting on her knees. It was then he noticed the ring, the silver band shining, and he couldn't help himself. He reached, then hesitated, fingers hovering above the joined hands. To his amazement, the younger Kurosaki lifted the limp hand until it touched his, and he clasped that hand gently as she moved it to rest on his knee instead.

When had he gotten this, or had he had it all along? Ichigo had not worn any ring at the clinic, though married, and Toshiro had assumed that was simply logical for a surgeon. His left hand cradled the slightly cool flesh, and his right fingers ran across the unadorned silver.

"He told me that Ukitake-san gave it to him, the day he took you from the clinic. He said it was his source of hope."

He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like he might weep. He may be young by Shinigami standards, but life had seemed endless, a dreary monotony that was normal, acceptable, numbing. The few events that had stood out, made an impact, were all painful and made him push the world even further away, made him hide in duty and apathy. Until Ichigo. So many years. He had earned respect and authority against the odds. But he had never even tried to earn love. He had done nothing to deserve this gift once in his life, let alone twice.

Silent, not trusting his voice and, in the end, having nothing to say to anyone who could hear, he sat and waited. His eyes went to the inflamed flesh of the healing wound, the proof of how little he deserved this remarkable man who had stood unflinching to accept death at the hands of one he loved. If he had been worthy of such devotion, then he would never have doubted, never have blamed, never have despaired. It had taken Hyorinmaru pushing him to his very limits to wake him up, to force him to stop the fatal blow, to show him that nothing else mattered, not truth or falsehood, loyalty or betrayal. Only Ichigo.

So simple it all seemed now. Years wasted on grief and anger. Years when the faith he should have held onto could have helped him deal with loss. Years when Ichigo may have been out of reach, a human with no memory of him, a new life, a wife, and a future he was not part of. But years when he still loved, buried under all the trauma, he still loved.

* * *

 **A/N**

Thanks **Beebo85, Shka, DenIchi Hitsugaya** (you are too funny!) for the continued support. I can't think of any way to fit Grimm/Ichi/Hitsu into any of my current stories without screwing up character development. But I do have an idea for a new story (M, you know it. Trauma will be the only rated T I'll ever do, and I regret making it T to start with, honestly) and I think it will work in the new one. Gotta finish at least one of the current stories to make it happen!


	23. Chapter 23

"Well, I did as you asked. Now you want to tell me what the hell that was about?"

It was almost painful to even hear the anger, let alone lift his head to see the narrowed eyes, the clenched jaw. He had already lost one dear friend today. Though he knew from the beginning that it was likely Toshiro would never forgive him if things did not go as planned, he had not predicted the sheer hatred, and long before the events he had thought would truly anger the young captain. If he lost Kyoraku, too, he was certain it would kill him. That might be best for all concerned, he thought.

"It was necessary."

"Necessary? We nearly lost them both! And that's all you can say, it was _necessary_?"

Too devastated even to flinch, he just stared. He had completely forgotten that they were not alone until the former captain spoke. Urahara had been as responsible for this plan as he was. Not that he was evading responsibility. He still firmly believed that he had done the right thing, for Soul Society, for the Gotei 13, for entire worlds. That included the two men, one nearly fatally injured, one with no visible wounds but suffering just as much. In time, they may even realize that this had indeed been for their own benefit.

"Indeed, sotaicho. Necessary. And very fortunate. There was a good chance Hitsugaya would not come, or not in time. He may not have reacted the way we hoped. It was not a flawless plan, I won't pretend otherwise. But in the end, we could not have asked for a better outcome."

Shunsui sat heavily with a groan. He could sympathize. A terrible world it was when a heartbroken man striking down his lover was considered fortunate. He looked back down at his hands, willing to be left out of this conversation for as long as possible. His hands were thinner, paler, and he watched them tremble with little interest. Pulling together enough strength to find Toshiro in the world of the living had been hard. Since then, he had faced a former Espada, having to show the power of a captain or risk being attacked. He had maintained an aura of authority he had not had in a decade to command and coordinate the many players needed to get to this moment. It had drained him far more than he would let anyone know. It would not be long now, he knew it deep in his bones. He was tired, so very tired.

"Explain."

Still angry, but now his friend's voice sounded as exhausted as he felt. It was the only reason he had left to hold on. Once, it had been determination to see the end of Aizen and this war, to know that the world he had spent hundreds of years defending would continue and recover from this nightmare. That wasn't enough anymore. But he was not the only one nearly crushed by the struggle. If continuing to draw breath could ease Shunsui's burdens in any way, with a word of advice or comfort, a task taken off his shoulders, then he would continue breathing no matter how much he longed to stop.

"We could, perhaps, have simply gone after Zangetsu, returned the zanpakuto to Kurosaki, and hoped that would be enough. Maybe it would. But that idyllic outcome was unlikely. Kurosaki didn't just forget being a Shinigami, he forgot his zanpakuto, a part of his own soul. Even with prompting, hints of truth, and training, he still did not remember at all. Now does that sound promising to you? Wouldn't do us any good to have a powerless human with a pair of swords he probably can't even lift off the ground."

He looked up when the silence stretched, catching Shunsui in a rare moment of complete confusion and deep thought. Damn Urahara, anyway. Can't the man ever just say what he means? The commander of a desperate army had a few bigger things to worry about than being taunted by a clown that enjoys flaunting his wits.

"What Urahara is so poorly trying to say is that he was unable to unlock even a hint of Kurosaki's power or jolt his memory. The only thing that's done that was time close to Toshiro. But there's no way Toshiro would help, not the way we needed him to."

"So, you two thought it was a good idea to force Hitsugaya to confront Kurosaki when he was already pissed. The captain who tore apart an army the last time he lost control. And you did this right in base, where we could have lost a quarter of our fighters, not to mention half our captains. And you say it was necessary. What would you have done if Kurosaki had been killed?"

"You know the answer, sotaicho. We would have done nothing."

A flash of disgust on his friend's face, quickly returning to anger and cunning. Shunsui saw it now. It had all been a gamble, but one where nearly every outcome had an advantage. Even the worst imaginable outcome had one great advantage.

"The intention was to bring the two together. Yes, it was a volatile situation, but not one we did not predict. Had Hitsugaya not shown up, had he kept his cool and left, we lost nothing. Had he embraced Kurosaki, all the better. But we did figure it would not be that peaceful. The worst-case scenario, Kurosaki dies, here in Soul Society, and very likely a new Shinigami is born."

The brown eyes, cold and sharp, met his.

"And you call me cruel."

Honestly, he was too numbed to the pain to even feel the new blow. Time was, he could play politics, play the hero and the villain in the same breath without it causing him even a twinge of true remorse. Old age, weakness, loss, or the shadow over him that told him to count his days, whatever it was, he never felt anything but remorse these days. Centuries of questionable morality in the name of duty catching up with him, he supposed.

"The extreme threat to Kurosaki's life may have achieved something unexpected. Here, closer to Zangetsu, nearly dying . . . have you paid attention to his reiatsu?"

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The throne room had always creeped him out. That was the point, he supposed, to intimidate anyone unfortunate enough to be there. Aizen had learned during his rise to power. The throne itself, still severe and too large, was not set on some ridiculously high dais, only a few steps up from the ground. Instead of making everyone crane their heads up to look at the king, the only option was to kneel and stay down. Anyone who thought it was okay to have their head higher than the crown quickly learned otherwise, Aizen's sinister favorite moving from her place at the feet of her god, taking that head to correct the error.

He spat on the floor, snarling at his own reflection in the odd surface, solid as stone and fragile as glass, another way to beguile and intimidate. Any of the other groveling figures in the room would be killed for such disrespect. Not Grimmjow. Aizen loved seeing him like this, sick with self-loathing for being down on one knee. Worse, all the scum around him witnessing his disgrace. He would not look at them, the unnatural mix of Arrancar side by side with Hollowfied Shinigami, would not acknowledge their presence unless it was to cut them down. But they were there, glancing sideways at him, smirking and reveling in seeing him bent down to their level.

"My oldest servant," he growled, eyes down not in submission but to avoid seeing the arrogant smirk. Or so he told himself. In the back of his mind, under the rage and disgust, he knew the 'god' terrified him. Even his sleep wasn't safe, nightmares of the twisted Shinigami tearing away any semblance of peace. And now he would be in for another round of discipline. He only hoped it would be just Aizen doling out punishment, not his vicious pet, and somewhere else, not in front of the vile traitors drooling in anticipation.

"I have tolerated much from you, in honor of your years of loyal service." Bullshit. Aizen knew he was anything but loyal. It had always been a fine line he walked, pulling against the leash. They both knew he only obeyed out of fear, love of fighting, and the drive for power.

"You have cost me many valuable generals." Bullshit again. Only the truly pathetic thought the had any real value to their lord and master. The Shinigami, in particular, bought this act, somehow convincing themselves that Aizen appreciated their sacrifice of their humanity, honored their changing of allegiance. Grimmjow wasn't that stupid. He'd seen his fellows thrown away, so casually, while Aizen and the two dead captains watched without a care in the world.

"But my Tres Espada, a dear friend from my own division, really Grimmjow, do you expect me to overlook such an offense?" He could hear the derision underlying the mock sorrow, clear as day. But such a line would keep the traitors happy, make them feel special. He spat again, unable to do anything else. If the 'god' gave a death sentence, he'd make sure to do some damage before he went down.

"Well, do you have anything to say for yourself, _former Espada_?"

He looked up, head high, grinning into the face of evil. How ironic, a monster like him afraid of the devil who sat on the throne of Heaven.

"If takin' out the trash is an offense, do what you gotta do . . . Aizen-sama."

Outraged exclamations all around, the sycophantic fools. Crouched at her master's feet, the favorite, the Cero Espada moved her hand to her hilt. He was acutely aware of her, the only other one in the room he wasn't sure he could take down, but he kept his glare on his master. No denying that truth, not yet anyway.

"I will forgive you, my dear Grimmjow." His enjoyed the shocked silence even as he dreaded the next words. It was never that easy.

"On one condition. You have three days to bring me a suitable replacement. That is, a captain or lieutenant of your choice. I'll be kind, and even accept the 4th Division if that is the best you can do. Alive, Grimmjow, and reasonably intact."

His grin widened, holding back the urge to laugh. Three days would be enough, it would have to be. The Shinigami were taking too long already with this whole Kurosaki plan. And if they couldn't pull it off, they'd just have to chose between sacrificing one of their best or sacrificing their only spy in the enemy's ranks. Of course, he would have his own say in that choice. No way he was going down before Aizen.

And if he was stuck licking Aizen's boot for eternity, he knew just which captain he would most like to see kneeling beside him to lick the other. What a thought, almost enough to make him want the Shinigami's plan to fail so that he would have an excuse to so as Aizen demanded, just this once. His pretty Toshiro, part Hollow, how beautiful he would be.

"Aizen-sama, I thought you'd never ask."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Something was different. Other than the headache, the pain in his chest, the blurry, boring view. He closed his eyes and tried to think. The air was stale, cool. He could hear something quiet and rhythmic, snoring? Waiting a minute, the throbbing in his head lessened. His left shoulder hurt, not terribly, left arm numb, hanging off the edge of the bed and he tried to move it back up to regain feeling.

"Ichigo?"

Quiet voice, familiar, beloved. He hesitated to open his eyes. If it was a dream, he wanted to stay. Temptation proved too great in only a second or two, and he opened his eyes as the sound and feel of movement reinforced reality. His reward, the most beautiful eyes in the world, the color the sky wished to be and the ocean dreamed of.

"Toshiro . . .."

What, had the man been sitting on the floor? He must have been, and now settled on his knees. So that's why he couldn't move his arm, it was firmly locked in Toshiro's hand. Perhaps he was dead. But wait, he'd just end up in Soul Society. How then, could he tell if he was dead? He decided he didn't care as the sight of turquoise eyes became clearer, that handsome face so close, the warm hand he could feel now, just barely through the tingling nerves.

No, he decided he must be dead or dreaming as another warm hand brushed against his cheek, then twined long fingers in his hair. Maybe he could play along, stay in this Heaven for a little while. He wished the feeling in his left arm would hurry up and return, and he smiled as he watched his left hand held up to be kissed repeatedly, slowly. He remembered how soft and oddly cool those lips were, that one startling moment just hours before his nameless patient had been torn out of his life. He thought of that often, with so much regret that he had not returned the kiss.

"Ichigo," the back of his hand was now pressed to a smooth cheek. At least he assumed it was as soft as it looked, the numbness not quite letting him fully appreciate the moment.

"I . . . Ichigo, I need to tell you . . ."

He waited, confused; even in the beginning when struggling with no memory, the helpless patient had rarely lacked assertive confidence. Whatever was so important was interrupted by a gasp. He looked over, past Toshiro, to see another wonderful sight. His little sister sat up quickly, almost tangling herself in the gray blanket as her legs swung over the edge. As happy as he was to see Karin again, he couldn't help regretting the release of his hand as Toshiro leaned back and moved away, making room for the crushing weight to fall on his sore chest. His right arm wrapped around narrow shoulders, and he gladly put up with the flash of pain that faded to a more pervasive discomfort.

Then there were other voices, other faces, coming to crowd around him out of nowhere. Yoruichi and Urahara were grinning at him from somewhere above his feet. Karin took up all the space on his left, and two people he did not recognize were on his right, slightly familiar if his mind was not simply playing tricks on him. They were all talking over each other, saying his name, asking how he was; it would have annoyed him if it wasn't so clear that they were happy to see him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Karin, you think you could let go now?"

Where was Toshiro? There, several steps farther away, off to the side. He was smiling, just a little twist of the lips in an otherwise serious face, but his eyes were so sad. He remembered those eyes being angry, not sad, so very bright and full of fury and . . . Toshiro had attacked him. For an instant, it was as if his heart stopped, all thought paused and restarted as memory returned in a rush, entering the cold cavern, vaguely noting the presence of many people before all he saw was Toshiro. The miracle patient he had fallen in love with, the lost lover he could not recall, the terrifying and beautiful God of Death that took his life as he willingly offered it.

The ghost of a smile vanished, white brows drawing together. His expression must have given him away, the delayed reaction of astonishment that could easily be mistaken for fear. Toshiro thought Ichigo was afraid of him. He watched Toshiro's face become completely blank and still, freezing over and shutting him out.

"No!"

He had nearly shouted, and the chattering stopped abruptly. He struggled a little, the reason for the difficulty and the pain now clear in his mind, and he lifted himself on his right elbow.

"Ichi-nii, you really shouldn't . . ."

"Karin, I love you, but please leave." He recognized the sudden annoyance that flashed across her face and continued before she could yell at him.

"Yoruichi, Urahara, you guys, too. I don't know who you two are, but thanks for looking out for me. Now, get lost."

"Oh, it's Ichigo, alright."

"Shut it, Renji."

The tiny Shinigami pushed the huge, growling, tattooed captain toward the door, a Chihuahua nipping the heels of a Rottweiler. He would have laughed if it weren't for the dead expression on Toshiro's face. The three other pairs of eyes shifted back and forth between the worried brown and the blank turquoise. Yoruichi gathered Karin, arm going around her shoulders and pulling her along. He tore his eyes away from Toshiro long enough to offer her a reassuring smile as he pushed his weight onto his right arm and shifted awkwardly until he was slouched low against the cold stone wall.

Finally, the door closed. He lifted his left hand, almost normal now, opening and closing his fingers in a beckoning motion and then holding his hand outstretched.

"No misunderstandings. No miscommunications. Not when I've finally found you."

A crack in that mask, a flutter of lashes, the unbearable distance closing with three long strides. He could feel that hand now, closing palm to palm. His right hand came up as if drawn, fingers caressing the smooth wrist, along valleys between tendons, to long fingers curved to hold. Warm, strong but so gentle, soft in places and rough in others, traumatized and healed time after time until calloused over, ready for the sword. His own hands were similar now after long hours of training daily, no longer the hands of a surgeon.

"Ichigo."

The faint whisper broke his reverie. Distracted for only a moment, he looked up to find the impassive mask not just cracked but shattered entirely. His Toshiro looked on the verge of weeping, from no emotion in those lovely eyes to far too much emotion to read. He knew the strength of Shinigami. Even when Yoruichi held almost all her power back, she could take his hardest hit and smack him down with a finger. So, he knew when he tugged firmly on that strong hand that it was Toshiro's decision to come closer, to fall gracefully onto the bed and onto him, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning, draped across him. Lightly, careful of the tender wound, the white-haired head came to rest on his right shoulder, forehead touching his jaw. He leaned his cheek against the snowy locks, so thick and soft, as his right arm wrapped high around the lithe waist, feeling a slight trembling.

"Shhh. Everything's okay now."

Despite all the tragedy leading to this moment, he could not help but feel immense relief and burgeoning joy. There had been no indications that the man he had once nearly wed would ever look at him again with anything but bitterness and disdain. He would have been content if Toshiro simply tolerated his existence, allowed him to fight and perhaps make some difference that would improve life for those he loved. He did not expect what had happened, had certainly imagined Toshiro killing him a time or two but never truly thought it would really happen. When he saw that killing intent, saw the bright blade racing to reach him, all he could think was . . . _glorious_.

And now, Toshiro leaning into him, fast, careful breaths he recognized as an attempt to keep emotions in check. Seeing him was enough to make him content with his life and his death. Speaking to him again was a beautiful gift. Touching him was sheer bliss. He had driven himself this far on the determination that he was doing the right thing, with or without reward. But it was the hope of winning back Toshiro's heart that pushed him through when it all seemed too much for one man. Was there a chance, any small chance at all?

"Hmm?" Muffled words against his chest, and he felt the hand around his tighten.

"Sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Shhh, everything's okay," he repeated, feelings jumbled again, sorrow and worry and such piercing happiness. "Nothing you need to be sorry for. Not now, not ever."

A moment of silence, and then he felt a little explosion of breath on his chest, a second of quiet laughter.

"The things you say, Ichigo."

He smiled at the slightly playful tone, the wise teasing he had loved from his patient. Not for the first time, he wondered just how much of Hitsugaya Toshiro he had seen in those long conversations in the clinic, and how much he still had to relearn or, hopefully, remember. Not that it mattered. He turned a little to kiss the wintry hair, feeling the warm body relax a little, quick breaths starting to deepen and slow.

"I've been such a fool."

Drawing his head back a little, he still could not see Toshiro's face. Deliberately hiding, he guessed. Everything he knew about Toshiro told him that the aloof and powerful captain was loath to admit he had such a weakness as feelings. Though they tried not to give him details about his own past, Yoruichi and Urahara had let many stories slip. The common theme, amazement at how persistent Ichigo had been when Toshiro had been nothing but hostile. They were wrong. Not hostile, he knew, just so very scared to let his guard down, and furious to be scared of anything.

"We're a good match, then. The fool and the idiot."

Another little laugh. Two in one day, he must be dreaming. Of course, his Toshiro was probably ready to break, more fragile now than he was when he woke up in agony with no idea who he was or what had happened. Toshiro needed to rest, to take time to come to terms with what had happened, and with him being here.

"You're no fool, Toshiro, but I'm too tired to hear why you would think such a ridiculous thing. And you're exhausted. Will you stay with me? Keep me warm?"

The man of his dreams moved away, pushing himself up on his left hand. His heart skipped a beat. Having Toshiro so close, leaning over him in bed, his thoughts quickly became highly inappropriate. At least for now, there was too much still to work out between them, too great a chance of pushing too far while everything was raw. Toshiro was allowing Ichigo to see him vulnerable, he could not risk taking advantage of that trust.

No doubt, Toshiro was considering the consequences, the certainty of someone walking in and finding them in bed together. He figured the answer was a solid 'No' even before Toshiro shook his head.

"I will gladly sit with you until you fall asleep. I owe you that much, I'm sure."

"I'll take what I can get. Funny, isn't it? You did want me to try out being stuck in a hospital bed."

He put weight on his right arm again to scoot back down, not quite stopping a grunt at the pain of tensing muscles across his chest. Toshiro leaned forward again, one arm pushing between him and the mattress, low around his back, the other higher, supporting shoulders. He was effectively hugged to the strong chest and slid effortlessly, then lowered gently. He tried to resist, really he did, but the sight, the scent, the feel of the man he loved so close was irresistible. And it was chaste enough, just a press of his lips to the warm, velvety cheek before it retreated.

Oooo, was that a blush? The bright eyes looked down, lips pursed, and he half expected to get chastised. Then his heart fluttered again as Toshiro started to sit up and his eyes caught the flash of silver slipping free from the white and black folds.

"Toshiro, is that . . .."

He reached with his left hand, only to have Toshiro straighten, his hand going up to grab the chain and the ring threaded onto it in a tight fist, face looking away, uncertain. He felt the shifting of weight, and he grabbed cloth just under that hand hiding such a precious treasure.

"Don't run. Don't you dare."

After a surprised blink of long lashes, he was treated to a fierce glare. He simply smiled in reply, following the train of thought from the need to escape embarrassment to the anger at having it pointed out. So jumpy. So awkward at handling emotion. Just like when his calm patient had confronted the deep scars and the frightening memories they evoked. Then, Toshiro had fled from panic by clinging to him, kissing him, only to run just as fast away from the implications of that action, turning back into the dark memories.

With a deep sigh, the fist unclenched and the long fingers parted, falling to the bed. His own hand let go of the bunched cloth, slipping up to cradle the pale metal reverently as he stared. So small, it would fit only halfway on his smallest finger, perhaps. A ring made for the Toshiro in the pictures, short and slight, not the Adonis that sat watching him with expression schooled again to stillness. The faint clink against his own ring seemed an intimate promise, one long deferred but never forgotten.

"You've kept it close."

"Don't read too much into it, just because I didn't get around to throwing it away."

He couldn't stop a quiet chuckle. The petulant tone was far more suited to the figure that would fit that ring. Fortunately, the temperamental captain had a rueful smile for him before it vanished with tense and hopeful questions.

"Do you remember giving this to me? Do you remember any of it?"

His own smile faded a little, but he did not let it go entirely. Toshiro knew the answer, he could tell by the glimmer fading from the pretty eyes, darkened again by deep sorrow.

"I don't. Not really. I have dreams sometimes, but I have no way to know if that is all they are. I don't remember being a Shinigami. Much to my regret, I don't remember falling for you the first time, and I don't remember what I did to ruin it. All I really know is that there might be something I can do to help. And I still love you."

Turquoise eyes calm again, guarded but not locked down like they had been, gazing first at him and then around the room. He was relieved to see no tears, no anger, some worry but the overwhelming grief was gone or hidden. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. It was certainly true of the seemingly unfeeling captain.

"Scoot over. I'll take the other side so I don't hurt your shoulder any more than I already have."

He couldn't help but grin, ecstatic and still not believing how accepting, how affectionate Toshiro was being even with all the sadness and confusion. Obedient, he moved carefully, pulling back the blanket and sheet. He watched Toshiro's back as he stood, took off and precisely folded the black kosode, setting it down on another bed where his haori and zanpakuto already rested. He looked just as stunningly handsome in the white of the shitagi, blending with his hair and making his eyes stand out that much more.

"Ha! You think that hurt? Barely felt it. You'll have to try harder next time."

Testing out lying on his right side to provide more room, he found the only pain-free position was flat on his back. Toshiro paused beside the bed.

"Not funny, Ichigo. I will never hurt you again."

"I know that. Just teasing, my love."

Now that was definitely a blush. Once again, no reprimand came as Toshiro slid into the bed, too narrow for him to do anything but lay on his side. And he was surprised again when Toshiro did not choose to put his back to him, settling low so that his head could once again rest on the bare shoulder, right arm pulling up the blankets and then resting over bare stomach.

He held still, afraid to breathe and risk frightening away the rare beauty cuddling into him. But he had not been lying when he said he was tired. Weariness and shared warmth made him gradually relax, head turning to feel white hair on his chin and lips once more. So comfortable, so worth getting nearly killed for.

He was not so naïve as to think all was forgiven, that he and Toshiro would join hands and live happily ever after. The first thing he had noted, back in the hospital when they had only had a couple of interactions through pain and confusion, was that his patient seemed deeply wounded in a way that had nothing to do with the physical trauma he had suffered. The brave and independent captain was a little broken now, grief and guilt at losing his control and nearly killing Ichigo making him seek consolation and forgiveness.

Too much exposure to a therapist sister, perhaps. But he believed the moment of affection and harmony was just that, a moment. It would not be so easy to move beyond anger, betrayal, years of suffering. For now, he could hold his loved one close, breathe deeply the scent of winter while feeling the comforting heat of summer, and pretend that all was right with the world.

"I missed this."

He almost missed that sweet whisper as his awareness faded, and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

 **A/N –**

There you go, some fluff to balance out all the angst. Don't get used to it.

Thanks, **Shka**! I like writing Hisugaya like this, all soft and vulnerable, even if it makes me tear up a bit.

 **DenIchi Hitsugaya** , thanks for the support! And thanks for writing a new story – y'all go check out ' _History Repeats Itself_ '


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